Bad Breakup: Siren Boyfriend

CRACK!

The sound of his own voice was a hurricane trapped in a glass jar about to shatter and it —wasn’t enough to fill the void where love used to be. The melody was jagged, dissonant, a sound that didn’t belong in his throat. Born of feelings that didn't belong in any Siren's heart. His voice, usually a weapon, now faltered and cracked like ice under pressure.

He screamed the building snarl, the tidal shift tearing between roiling currents of incoherent and conflicting emotions.

rejection

abandonment Betrayal

RAGE

LONGING

NEED

While the sound was beyond words, they sliced through the air to carry their meaning clearly.

"The storm inside my skull won’t fucking quit— You tore through the depths of it, ALL Left the old me scattered in the undertow, OBLITERATED"—

His voice slammed the jetty rocks, sending a crack spider-webbing across the jagged stone. The kelp-wrap clung to his hips, its iridescence flickering like a dying bioluminescent bloom. He dragged clawed fingers down his chest, scales warm under his touch but cold beneath in the absence of his lover's embrace.

"STOP! My gills ache in the air where your breath doesn’t stir— The silence is louder than any song I’ve heard, All I want is your pulse against my teeth, BUT YOU’RE GONE—"

The last word twisted into a growl, low and dangerous, the kind that could make the ocean itself recoil. He could still feel the echo of the presence—like a shadow in the water, something he could never quite catch. The memory of hands, voice, clung to him like barnacles on a shipwreck.

The song wasn’t a lament. It was a tsunami. His voice dropped to a subsonic rumble, the kind that could make the air itself tremble.

"FATES COLLIDING, Love UNDYING? Bullshit. Like the FALLING tide, Beating hearts? Yours stopped. MINE’S STILL TRYING—"

He exhaled, and the air smelled like brine and the faintest trace of —something resonant, something else, something he couldn’t name but could never forget.

The lighthouse groaned in sympathy, its walls trembling under the weight of his grief.

Somewhere below, the waves whispered fool.

He bared his teeth, eyes gleaming with fury.

Then he sang the chorus again.

Louder.

Because sirens didn’t drown.

But this?

This felt like drowning.

The waves crashed against the jagged rocks of the island, their rhythm mocking the hollow ache raging a storm within his chest. He stood at the edge of the shore, the note clutched in his scaled hand, the ink smudged from the saltwater that dripped from his trembling fingers. "Too deep, Bob." The words burned like acid in his mind, each syllable a jagged shard lodged in his heart. Too deep? Too fucking deep? He had given everything—his songs, his devotion, his very essence—and still, it wasn’t enough.

His laugh was sharp, bitter, a sound that could have shattered glass had there been any nearby. It echoed across the desolate island, mingling with the roaring surf. "Too deep," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, the pressure of it vibrating through the air like a storm brewing on the horizon. "You think you know depth, sailor? You think you’ve tasted the abyss?" His lips curled into a grimace, revealing teeth that gleamed like shards of coral.

He stepped into the water, the cool embrace of the ocean a familiar caress against his scaled skin. The iridescent kelp-wrap around his hips shimmered as the waves lapped at his thighs, and he tossed the note into the surf, watching it dissolve into the brine. His pale blue eyes gleamed with a mix of fury and longing, the faint hint of pupils flickering behind the translucent membrane that protected them.

Then he began to sing.

At first, it was a whisper, a hum that resonated through the water and up into the air, a sound that could have been mistaken for the wind if it weren’t for the way it tugged at the soul. But it grew, swelling into a haunting melody that seemed to come from the depths of the ocean itself. His voice was pressure, weight, a force that could crack stone and stop hearts. It was a song of rage, of betrayal, of a love that had been cast aside like driftwood.

🎶"Too deep?"🎶 he sang to the sailor now gone away, the words dripping with venom. 🎶"You call this depth? You call this love? You who feared the currents, who couldn’t bear the crush of my embrace? You who ran from the tides that called your name?"🎶

The air still vibrated with the aftershock of his screaming crescendo—not a human sound, but the kind of noise that made the windows rattle in their frames, glass shivering like the surface of the sea before a storm. His voice was a riptide given sound, a force that could drag ships down to the crushing dark. And yet— they'd walked away.

They'd walked away.

His scaled fingers curled into fists, the webbing between them stretched taut. The kelp-wrap around his hips clung damply, shifting colors with each ragged breath—indigo to teal, teal to something darker, the hue of a bruise. His gills flared along his ribs, tasting the air for a scent that wasn't there, for the salt of sweat, the warmth of their pulse. Gone.

"You think it’s that easy?" His voice cracked like ice over deep water, the words layered with harmonics no human throat could replicate. The sound was a hook, a barbed thing—meant to snag beneath your skin and pull. "You think you can just—step out of the tide?"

A laugh, sharp as a coral edge, tore from him. He tipped his head back, throat working as the next note built—not a song, not anymore. A weapon. The first syllable hit like a wave against rock, the pressure of it making the walls groan.

"Come. Back."

Each word was a weight, an anchor tied to ribs. His voice wrapped around the space where no one now stood, where warmth, heat had been, and squeezed. The air itself thickened, heavy with salt and the ozone-tang of gathering storm.

"You don’t get to leave," he hissed, the gleam of his eyes aglow in the dim. "Not when I’m still singing for you."

And then—the melody shifted. Not a command now, but a plea, a sound so wretched it could have drawn tears from stone. His voice wavered, the harmonics fraying at the edges.

"Please."

The word was raw. Human.

Beneath the scales, beneath the teeth, something ached.

[have I sparked your imagination in a different way entirely? Here is where you can take the intro into your own hands.]