A River Maiden's Symphony

                                    

                                          
Published 12 may 2022
Quick note: I call Sally a siren in this, but take this name loosely. Also this has been on and off in editing for months, so apologies for any strange pacing or wording. I am quite frankly sick of rewriting this one lmao 
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Water slipped off the river siren's skin, her newly formed feet pressing in on the familiar, yet strange feeling of dry sand in between her toes.
A dress made of whispers and coral trailed behind her, smoothing down the sand it crossed over.
She whisks into the tree line, not much more than a shadow in the soft light of the moon. The small pitter-patter of her footsteps fade away into the orchestra of crickets and frogs.
Somewhere, a crow calls. 
Her lips pull up into a grin, razor-sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight as she pushes back leaves and squeezes past bushes.
And there, hidden behind the shrubbery and trees, is a small grassy clearing that seems to appear out of nowhere; baby-blue flowers and an old rotting log filling the otherwise empty space. 
On top of the old log, a man sits with his back turned to her. He still wears a uniform, one that holds a blue so deep, even she could sink away into its depths if she wasn't careful. 
Breaking through that blue, soft gold stripes decorate his shoulder plates, the white frills near his neck complimenting the colors well. 
A black hat sits discarded at his side.
He looks as though he stepped directly out of the children's storybook she once found aside her river. 
His shoulders suddenly righted, seeming to notice her presence and turning around with a warm smile decorating his face. His eyes shine brighter than the sun as he stands up and reaches out to her.
"Sally." 
He says as always, his voice comforting and warm, like freshly baked honeybuns held gently in between cold clawed hands.
Once, on a day of celebration, he had brought her those. Baked by a friend of his, her name one Sally couldn't quite remember. 
Light steam had drifted up from the soft bread, tickling her nose and cheeks with a peculiar warmth, unlike anything she'd felt before.
During her first bite, she realized it was a lot more sweet than she had predicted. It was soft, but fierce, sending a wave of warmth through her chest. Subconsciously, she decided that honeybuns tasted exactly like Wilbur's voice.
She wasn't entirely sure what that sentence meant when she thought it, but she liked the way it sounded nonetheless. Like something Wilbur would say during one of his many ramblings.
During her second bite though, she changed her mind. Wilbur had told her this recipe was made years ago, long before he was born. 
It was his favorite, having eaten it numerous times in his childhood. So clearly, it had to be the opposite. It was his voice that sounded like honeybuns.
For a long time, she had pondered if every human's voice sounded like their favorite food.
"Wilbur."