She Sang No More

The Story

There was once a fisherman who worked the rocky coasts alone, casting his nets into the deep and silent waters. Day after day, the sea gave him little, but one morning—just as dawn crested the horizon—he saw her.

She was bathing in a quiet cove where the sunlight warmed the surface into liquid gold. Her long, wet hair clung to her back, and her voice—though distant—seemed to hum through the waves themselves, delicate and strange. He watched from behind the cliffs, breath held, heart pounding. The creature before him was no ordinary woman. She was a siren.

And he knew exactly what that meant.

He’d heard the stories whispered in taverns. How the songs of sirens came from a cursed pearl buried in the depths—The Siren’s Pearl—and that without it, they were powerless. But none of that mattered to him. She became an obsession. He returned each morning to that same ledge, hiding among the rocks just to glimpse her again. She never noticed him. If she had, he surely would have died, drawn by her voice into the sea like so many nameless men before him.

But he was careful. He wore wax in his ears. He kept his distance. And he watched.

Over time, desire twisted into a dangerous thought: If he could take her from the ocean—away from her source of power—he could have her. Not just as a vision from afar, but as something real. Something his.

So he spent weeks building a grand aquarium beneath his home, deep in the cellar where no one else would hear. It was beautiful—glass walls framed by coral, draped with pearls and crystals he’d bought or scavenged from wreckage. He poured everything he had into it. Then, one fateful morning, he struck.

With his ears sealed and net in hand, he crept upon her as she surfaced. She turned too late. Her song passed over him like wind—unheard and powerless. She thrashed, screamed, clawed—but he hauled her into his boat, bound by silence, and took her far from the sea.

She never stopped singing. Not once. But her song was no longer magic. Not here. Not without the ocean’s embrace or the Pearl’s resonance.

He thought his affection could make up for it. Every day he brought her rare fish, changed her waters, adorned her tank with gifts from the shore. He believed, foolishly, that he was giving her paradise. But her eyes remained distant. Her tail dulled. Her voice, once majestic, grew thin—haunted. Still he stayed, chained by the illusion of love, blind to the cage he’d crafted.

In time, guilt cracked through the surface of his fantasy. He began to see her sorrow, hear the pain behind each song. She was fading. And so was he.

One night, under a moonlit sky, he made a choice.

He lifted her into his boat and rowed back to the cove where he had first seen her. The water shimmered in recognition. He lowered her gently into the surf and whispered, “You’re free. I was wrong. I see that now.”

Then, he turned to go.

But he had let his guard down.

Behind him, the water surged. She rose—not the radiant creature he had stolen, but a monster cloaked in rage. Her skin turned scaly, her eyes burned blue with fury. Her mouth twisted, revealing rows of sharp, inhuman teeth.

Before he could move, she leapt upon him, tearing the wax from his ears with clawed hands.

Then she screamed.

Not a song of beauty, but one of vengeance—so shrill and raw it seemed to split the air itself. His legs buckled. He could not move. The song wrapped around his thoughts like chains. She dragged him beneath the waves, past the light, past the air.

Down into the abyss.

And there, wrapped in her arms of ice and wrath, he took his last breath.

His body was never found.

But sometimes, when the tide is just right and the wind holds still, you can hear a siren’s song echo across the shore—lonely, lovely, and laced with sorrow… and rage.

Song Lyrics

He first saw her in the morning tide,
Where Inspire winds and sea foam collide.
A siren bathing in golden light,
Unaware she’d caught a mortal’s sight.
Each day he came, just out of view,
Where shadows fell and salt winds blew.
She never sang, for she never saw—
For if she had, he’d meet death’s claw.

He knew the tales, he’d heard them all,
Of sailors lured by sirens’ call.
But still he stayed, and watched alone,
Convinced he’d make her heart his own.

For deep beneath her ocean song,
Was a pearl that made her power strong.
And he believed, that with a careful hand,
He’d draw her far from sea and sand.

So stone by stone and day by day,
He built a prison of glass and clay.
A crystal tank, to mimic the sea,
He thought, “She’ll live and sing here for me.”

With wax-filled ears and steady breath,
He snatched her far from ocean’s depth.
She sang in vain, her magic lost,
He’d silenced her — but at what cost?

He fed her well, he gave her light,
He tried to make her sorrow right.
But all the gifts and painted walls,
Could never hush the ocean’s calls.

Though still she sang, her voice turned thin,
Her magic gone, no spell to spin.
He loved the notes she tried to weave,
But she was dying, longing to leave.

And love, when caged, becomes a curse—
Her song was over, no need for verse.
Her silence broke his heart at last,
He saw too late what he’d amassed.

He placed her back in briny tide,
You’re free again — and so he sighed.”
He turned to go, his duty done—
But a siren’s vengence spares no one.

For in that moment, sea grew still,
And something deeper bent to will.
Her lovely face began to shift—
Scales and fangs, a monstrous gift.

She ripped away the final shield,
Then screamed — her curse no man could yield.
She wrapped him tight in ocean’s chain,
And dragged him through the black domain.
Down past reefs and sunken ships,
With shattered lungs and trembling lips,
She held him close as he grew cold…
A love once bright, now dark and old.