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I am...
I am a singer. It is my life, singing. My voice, like all of my relatives, is entrancing, beautiful. We love to sing, for how could we not? Music is beauty. Music is nature and truth. Music is our life, and we love it.
For all my life, I have sung. The waves and the sea watch us impassionately. We worship the sea, for the sea brings us the treasures. Mirrors, gems, gold, and strange items. Things of metal and not-metal. Glass and beautiful things. Books and instruments. Everything comes from the sea.
I am a leader. My mother was a leader, and I am a leader. All my life, I have led the songs in harmony. We sing like the waves, and the wind, and the earth. I lead them to sing in the fashions that meld with nature. We cannot sing in another way. So I lead them in song.
I am an artist. I have found new songs, the songs of the thunderbirds, the songs of sound, the singing of the stars. I have taught my sisters to sing the song of the heavens. I sing as my heart leads me, and I sing the song of hearts. I have heard calls of the creatures of the sea, and have sung them. And I heard a new song. My sisters do not hear it, but it is beautiful. It is a song that defies description, and not even the wisest of my sisters can comprehend it.
I am a temptress. Until recently, I had thought we sang for the joy. And then I heard their pleadings. They wished to avoid our land, but our singing called them to us. They sang my song.
I am a murderer. I saw one of these creatures die. They were not beings of the sea; they are not one of us, but they sang my song. I cannot live happily knowing that my song kills. I watched the ocean this evening, looking for answers. And I sang. I cannot help singing; it is my nature. And another came. His ears were blocked, so he could not hear the song. He watched me before speaking. And what he said moved me.
"Why do you call us to death? When you sing so beautifully?"
I am in despair. My song is beautiful and terrible, and I cannot live denying myself of this pleasure. I will throw myself into the sea, and my song will not kill any longer. I cannot live with this cycle of death.
Her eyes were haunted, and she refused to speak. She frequented the shelter, watching me, for weeks. One night, she was asked to sing. I remembered the song-a dream, or a nightmare, but the voice was ethereal. I have never heard such a song. I asked her what it was, and she smiled sadly.
"It is a soul." We spoke often afterwards, and I found her to be as intruiging as her voice. She never speaks of her past, but she seems happier than she was. She sometimes mentions sacrifice, but I don't understand. Maybe I will someday.
I am...free.