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."
She sings back to him, letting the memory fade away into the back of her mind,
Warm, dry hands wrap around her waist, pulling her closer into an embrace.
She feels his cheek rest against her damp curls, the bright red color of her hair fitting just right against his pale skin.
Every time, Sally wonders how he managed to capture the beauty of the moon, and the shine of the sun.
"Sally, how have you been?" He asks, looking down at her with twinkling eyes.
Every night, it's the first question to be spoken between them. And every night, Wilbur would laugh as he said it, like it was an inside joke no-one else but them could understand.
And Sally would answer with a chuckle, telling him of the songs she'd sing with her kind. Of the drowned souls plaguing her river. Or of the occasional human she could spot.
And Wilbur would tell her about his; about how his nation would soon be free, how they would live in peace until the end of days. Though, sometimes while hearing him talk of his human world, Sally wondered how many of his own words he truly believed.
But regardless of that, every night, they would laugh, and sing and dance. Revelling in each other's company.
Wilbur, whose eye bags Sally would politely ignore, and Sally, whose killing nature Wilbur would feign ignorance off.
Yet tonight was different.
Unlike usual, he didn't launch into another excited ramble of the future after Sally asked how things were, but rather sent her a strained sort of smile.
They sat together on the log, Wilbur rubbing circles on Sally's deathly cold hands as he mumbles a reply.
"I'm... alright. Dream-he's been acting up lately."
His smile twitches, "Knowing our next moves. Our plans."
Sally stared at his hands, so soft and pale next to her light pink ones. A long time ago, she'd compared him to the shells she found on her river floor. Beautiful, sharp and sturdy.
But with one perfect hit, they'd shatter.
And the shells she loves the most, the ones she always held dearest, are always empty.
She prays that she will never love Wilbur that much.
"How does he know?" She hums, interrupting her train of thought.
"I don't know." The trees rustle with a faint gust of wind as Wilbur turns his head slightly to the right, "I think there's someone helping-," His jaws clamp shut, an audible click striking the air.
He shakes his head, "No. No, there isn't." He asserts, though his voice lacks the certainty that's always carried within his words.
Sally stares at him, and he avoids her eyes.
Suddenly, he stands up, taking her hand with his. A smile works its way onto his face, "Let's forget about our problems, shall we? Just for a night."
Sally knows he is avoiding her question, but still takes up his offer, resting her hand on his shoulder. Slowly, he twirls her around.
They weave around the clearing, Wilbur humming a gruff and quiet song, but one that still holds the faint taste of honeybuns.
"A battle is coming soon, Sal."
Despite his wish to ignore their difficulties, he can't bring himself not to tell her.
Sally makes a short noise in the back of her throat, a quiet reply to him, but says nothing else. He was always more of the talker between the two of them.
Another gust of wind grazes their skin as they sway from side to side, the grass crinkling with every steady and uncertain step made.
He is not afraid, she knows.
He is cautious. And he is anxious.
But he is never afraid.
Sometimes, Sally wishes he was.
"It's going to be- it's a big one. My men, they're determined. Eret has been great at keeping morale up." He chuckles, a fond sparkle in his eye as he thinks back to a distant memory, although his smile is quick to fade, "I don't think-I don't know if everyone will make it out of this one."
The grip on Sally's hand tightens for a moment, but only a moment. They stop moving, Wilbur's hum dying out into silence.
Sally rests her cheek against his chest, feeling the fatigue and restlessness humming under his skin; an ocean's worth of anxiety's crammed into a bottle.
"I'm sorry." She whispers.
He doesn't respond.
A gentle tune rises into the air, one that fills the entire clearing. Sally's song replaces Wilbur's hum, the tension in his shoulders dissipating as soon as the soothing melody washes over him.
They move alongside her singing, with Sally's quick but unhandy steps, and Wilbur's steady and assured gait.
Sally was a monster, that much she knew. Below the serene smile and the twinkling eyes, a hunger for death lingered in every action she made.
Her kind was made for killing, for destroying those they deemed worthless; and yet, here she was. Trapped beside her river, unable to ruin those who ruin him.
So instead of blood warming her skin, a soft touch does instead.
The clawed fingers made to tear through flesh and bone, instead gently caress pale hands bathed in warmth.
Her eyes follow every move he makes; not to drag him down into the depths of her home, but to make sure he never reaches it.
Her heart sings for the air that fills his chest. And her blood keens for his waterlogged lungs.
Sally never cared much for her blood.
When Wilbur dips her, he rests his forehead against hers, their hum dying out into silence. Sally breathes out, her cold skin pressed up against his.
Wilbur whispers, quiet and hoarse, "Marry me, Sally."
Sally immediately jerks up, nearly slamming her forehead into his. A surprised gurgle passes through her throat, before she remembers she's breathing air, not water. She blinks, and Wilbur stares at her, all honey glazed smiles and twinkling eyes.
"What?"
Wilbur holds her hands tight, his fingers pressed into her scales, "Marry me."
Sally shakes her head, pulling back her hands from his warm embrace. For a moment, his smile falters, and Sally looks away, an image so cruel she can't bear to look.
"I can't."
Wilbur reaches for her, and Sally steps back. An ache swims through her bones, a sudden longing for her river rearing its head as she avoids his eyes.
"Why not?" Wilbur whispers, urgent and desperate. Sally shakes her head, pressing back the whine in her throat.
"I can't leave my river, Wilbur. And soon, you'll be a president, and have so much to do. I can't-," She cries, her scales flashing a deep, somber red.
Wilbur looks down, her sun hiding away from her behind the clouds. She plucks at a stray strand of hair, desperate for him to change the subject, "I'm sorry-"
Wilbur's head suddenly shoots up again, a wide grin spread across his face, "Not a problem, Sal! I'll dig a moat, from your river to my nation! We'll be able to see each other every day, with no fear of enemies."
Sally stared blankly at the beaming man in-front of her for a few moments, before shaking her head. She lets out a short bitter laugh, "Wilbur, that will take so much work, we can't-,"
Wilbur stubbornly shakes his head, crossing his arms together, "Sally, you underestimate how quick I can work. And I'll get my people to help me!" His eyes sparkle, his mind already racing for ways to tackle the task ahead.
Sally needs him to snap out of it, "But you're at war, Wil! I won't take away any of your man power for m- for this."
"Then we'll do it after the war! It will end soon enough anyway." The determination in his voice manages to pull a smile out of Sally, used to the fiery ramblings he went on, "It's not a issue Sal, you see? I'll take care of it," he grins.
Sally can't help but smile wider, though certain that soon enough they'll discover a myriad of problems they can't solve, she grants herself this moment of fantasy.
Wilbur holds her hand, "So, Sally? What do you say?"
She looks at his hands, scarred and tough, and thinks of her shells. The ones she loves most.
"What if I ruin you?" She whispers.
"You won't. I trust you, Sally. More than I trust myself."
Sally looks up at him, his face darkened with shadows, "Why?"
"Because I love you." Wilbur says, without a hint of hesitation. His words don't carry a fiery passion, nor a gentle loving tone.
No, it carries certainty. Something so honest, so simple. Like nothing in the world has ever been as true as this.
Sally blinks.
And she is singing. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders, and he holds her up to the sky. She looks at his face, and into those eyes of shining gold.
She nods, and she laughs, and laughs- or maybe she cries? She can't quite tell.
Either way, her blood is alive, streaming into her face and heart.
She twirls in his hands, and he dances alongside her. In her excitement, she misplaces her foot, slipping down into the wet grass and dragging Wilbur down with her.
And there they are, a teary, giggly mess laying on the grass; Wilbur's fancy jacket ruined, smudges of dirt rubbed deep into the fabric.
She settles down, a smile still on her face as she lays next to Wilbur. They both stare up at the sky that is peeking through the leaves.
He presses a kiss to her head, and Sally rests herself against his chest. His heart beats against her skin, a steady rhythm she could listen to for hours.
Soft lights slowly pierces through the darkness, millions of stars making way for a glittering sun rise. A hushed promise is passed between them, heard only by two, but repeated a hundred times over in the whispers of the forest.
"We'll be happy." Wilbur says, the certainty in his voice so strong Sally can barely bring herself to think otherwise. "We'll be married soon, Sal, I promise you. When the war has ended, we'll live together for the rest of our lives."
Sally closes her eyes, and leans into his words, tasting how they feel in her mouth as she softly repeats it. The satisfaction filling her chest now, is far better than that of drowning men could ever bring her.
She is content, for once. Satisfied with their future. The uncertainties plaguing in the path ahead amount to nothing as long as she stands beside him. As long as he stands beside her.
Her blood quiets for good.