Siren

She stood in the raven's talons, her ethereal voice echoing through the vast royal hall.

The Lord and Lady watched intently, the son with barely a glance of passing interest.

The Lord was gray and heavy with wrinkles of worry and angry scars from battle. He borrowed the eyes of the hawk as he feasted on the young maiden's waif like form.

The Lady, fierce and wily, borrowed the eyes of the fox but could not hide her peacock feathers.

They sat still to song.

The son, scoffing, leaned on himself, his parents, the kingdom.

His betrothed did interest him though. He watched her through the eyes with which he hunted all women- the wolf.

The court was enraptured by the sad song she sang which lapped lazily on the shores of their consciousness.

It beat steadily like river on rock.

Several ladies of the court could feel.

The older ladies felt more than the young.

The young maiden stood still in her song, eyes wide, staring, like an owl, at the parents. Never once did she look to the boy.

Her eyes shone black, like a predator. Cunning.

Fire. There was fire. Black smoke filled the young maiden's lungs. Her black eyes stung. Her parents were still inside. Tears ran down her cheeks as she caught a glimpse of the Lord fleeing from her house like a jackal.

Her song as a blade, the Lady's eyes glazed over like fog rolling across a still lake.

Sad but powerful, her song rang off the ever high walls and created an atmosphere of longing, loss, and anger.

She sang in her mother tongue. No one knew the words. No one from the court cared enough to find out.

Her voice raised as the son stood smirking.

He languidly made his way to the young maiden who had captured his attention. No one moved.

The song grew desperate yet controlled. Powerful currents of intention swept through the room swirling up to the indoor sky.

The son’s parents were frozen. The Lord’s eyes, too wide like a rabbit, the Lady’s like a misty morning.

The young maiden locked eyes with the rabbit, bringing her hands up as she continued her lament.

The son encircled the young maiden, eyeing her with his wolfish hunger. He trailed his finger around her slender waist, feeling the sleek black velvet.

The young maiden continued her song, never flinching, eyes like a wildcat.

A tear escaped the Lord’s crooked eye and ran slowly down his cheek. His fingers gripped the arm of his throne. The Lady stared out through lifeless eyes.

The son finished his circle and poised himself for action.

The Lord’s eyes widened as the young maiden raised an arm to the son, pointing one finger at him.

He went to grab it with predatory intent when her song hit a crescendo.

The son stopped, caught in the bear trap.

The young maiden’s finger barely touched his throat.

The sound of rushing water unleashed from the flood gate came up, muffled, from his throat.

One step back, hands to throat, eyes like a deer frozen before a mountain lion.

The young maiden held the gaze of the Lord with her dangerous black pools.

Oceans too deep for him to fathom.

How did she know? He thought.

Her song hit another higher crescendo.

The ocean waves crashed in an epic deafening roar then receded taking with them the soul of the son.

His body fell to the unforgiving stone.

The young maiden finally tore her fierce stare away from the Lord, who had fallen, now crumpled on the same stone as his son.

The young maiden’s song echoed softly through the hall before she exited the stone court.

The young maiden flew on the wings of the raven, never to return.