The day of her evaluation finally arrived. Eleri was unusually quiet, not speaking to anyone—not even me. I could tell she was consumed by focus, completely absorbed in the idea that this was the defining moment of her life. As the hours ticked by, I waited anxiously outside the chamber, imagining her success, convinced that when she emerged, she would be triumphant.
Later, we sat in the dining hall, the air thick with anticipation. Eleri and I shared a table, a tray of untouched food sitting between us. My stomach was twisted with nerves, but Eleri seemed to buzz with barely-contained excitement. Her fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, her eyes darting toward the door every few seconds, as though the announcement couldn't come fast enough. She was ready to hear her name, to confirm what she already believed—that her destiny had arrived.
"They're going to call my name any minute now," she whispered, leaning close to me. "I know it."
But when the instructor finally walked in, clipboard in hand, I could see the look on his face before he said anything. It was one of those moments where you just know. He made the rounds, talking to each of the candidates in turn, and when he got to us, his expression softened. He didn't even need to say it out loud, but he did anyway.
"I'm sorry, Eleri," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "You've been disqualified from the Siren program."
I felt the air leave the room. Eleri froze beside me, her face going pale, her hand tightening around the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice shaking. "I did everything right! I trained for this! You can't just—"
"I'm sorry," the instructor repeated, and that was it. He turned and walked away, leaving Eleri staring after him, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
I didn't know what to say. I wanted to comfort her, to tell her it would be okay, but the truth was, I didn't know if it would be. Eleri had pinned everything on becoming a Siren, and now that dream had been taken away from her.
It was eerie, almost unsettling, to witness the shift in Eleri. One day, she was a shadow of herself—withdrawn and silent—and the next, she was consumed by a new obsession with the vampires. Unlike her previous fixation on the Sirens, which had been driven by a sense of wonder and hope, this was different—darker. The way she spoke about the vampires, with a strange, almost feverish intensity, sent chills down my spine. It was as if she had transferred all the disappointment and bitterness from her failure into something far more dangerous.
What unnerved me most was how quickly it happened. One moment, she was that quiet, broken version of herself, barely speaking, and the next, she was talking about the vampires nonstop. Her eyes, which had been so lifeless after the Siren evaluation, now held a strange glint, as if she had found a new purpose. But this purpose felt off, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
The passion she'd once had for the Sirens had been pure, almost innocent in its ambition, but her obsession with the vampires came from a much darker place. She wasn't just seeking transformation anymore; she was seeking power. The speed with which she flipped that switch—from utter defeat to this strange, unsettling fervor—made it feel like I was watching someone I didn't even recognize. It was scary, not just because of her renewed determination, but because it felt like desperation, as if she was clinging to the vampires as her last hope. I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was driving her now wouldn't lead anywhere good.
The days that followed were some of the hardest I'd ever seen Eleri endure. She stopped talking about the Sirens entirely, as if that dream had never existed. But it wasn't just silence; she retreated into herself in a way I'd never expected. Hours would pass with her locked away in our room, staring blankly at nothing, barely eating, her once bright and bubbly personality fading into something darker and distant. It was like watching a fire burn out, leaving nothing but cold ash.
The scariest part? She never cried. Not once. She bottled up all that disappointment and rage, locking it away deep inside where no one could reach it. In those moments, she became unrecognizable. I wanted to help, to say something, but she kept everything so tightly sealed that it was impossible to know how.
Still, Eleri wasn't the kind of person to stay down for long. She had always been resilient, and soon, I noticed the spark in her eyes beginning to flicker again. A few weeks after her disqualification, she started talking about the vampires. They had visited the orphanage not long after the Sirens, and this time, something about them struck a chord with her.
It was as if a switch had flipped. Where she had once been fixated on the grace and elegance of the Sirens, she now spoke of the raw power and control the vampires seemed to embody. It felt like she had found a new outlet for all the frustration and pain she'd swallowed down. That fire I thought had gone out began to burn again, but this time, it wasn't born out of hope or idealism; it was fueled by something darker, something more desperate.
"They're faster, stronger," she'd say, pacing the room while I sat on my bed, watching her. "They don't need to live in the ocean or deal with all that water nonsense. I think this is it, Sera. I think this is what I'm meant for."
Her obsession didn't fade. If anything, it grew worse. But it wasn't the same as before. This time, it felt... darker. More desperate. She started talking about it constantly, how she could "finally be something," how she would "prove everyone wrong."
But there was something else, too. Something in the way she looked at me now, something I couldn't quite place. It was like she'd latched onto me in a way she hadn't before. She'd always been clingy, sure, but now... it was different. Almost suffocating.
She'd follow me around the orphanage, her wide, desperate eyes fixed on me as if I held the answers to questions I didn't even know she was asking. It felt as though she needed me to validate her every move, every thought, and I couldn't help but feel the weight of that responsibility pressing down on my shoulders. When I didn't respond in the way she wanted, well, it became clear that she didn't take it well.
Once, I decided to slip away to the library, craving some solitude, some space to breathe and think. I thought a little time apart would do us both good. But when I returned to our room, I found her sitting on my bed, her posture rigid and her expression unreadable.
"Where were you?" she asked, her voice eerily calm, as if she'd rehearsed the question. There was something about her demeanor that sent a chill racing up my spine. "I've been looking for you."
"I just needed to study," I replied, attempting to brush it off, but even as I spoke, I could sense the tension in the air thickening.
"You didn't tell me," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly, narrowing into a focused beam that felt more like a spotlight than a gaze. "I thought something happened."
Her tone was soft, almost gentle, but the intensity of her gaze made me want to shrink away. It was as if she could see straight through me, peeling back layers I didn't even want to confront. "I didn't think I needed to explain myself," I stammered, a nervous laugh escaping my lips as I tried to lighten the mood. "It's just the library, you know? I just wanted a little quiet time."
"You should have told me," she insisted, her voice steady but laced with an edge that sent a shiver down my spine. "What if something happened to you? I wouldn't know. I can't keep doing this, Sera. I need to know where you are."
"I'm fine, Eleri. I just needed a break," I said, but my words felt feeble in the face of her intensity. I could see the worry etched in the lines of her face, mingling with something darker—something that felt like possession.
Her expression softened slightly, but the shift felt almost rehearsed, as if she were trying to dial back the fervor of her emotions. "I just... I worry, okay? You're the only person I have left," she admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper, as if sharing a secret.
That revelation hung in the air between us, heavy and uncomfortable. "You're not going to lose me, Eleri," I promised, though the words felt inadequate. I wanted to reassure her, but I could feel the nagging sensation in my gut telling me that I was treading on dangerous ground.
"Promise?" she asked, leaning closer, her eyes searching mine for something I wasn't sure I could give. It was a vulnerability wrapped in an intensity that felt almost suffocating.
"Of course, I promise," I said, but the word sat heavily on my tongue. What did that promise really mean? I couldn't shake the feeling that the more I reassured her, the more tightly she would cling to me, and that realization filled me with dread. The air between us felt thick with unspoken fears, and I couldn't ignore the unsettling truth that something wasn't right.
A few months later, Eleri finally got her chance. The vampires came to the orphanage to recruit, and when the news broke, she practically vibrated with excitement. It was as if the shadows that had lingered around her had been dispelled by the sheer possibility of transformation. She dove headfirst into preparations, her obsession taking on a new life of its own.
Every waking moment was consumed by the thought of becoming one of them. She spent hours researching their abilities, learning their history, and even practicing the physical tests she knew would come. I watched her as she transformed from a withdrawn girl into a fierce, determined force, her eyes gleaming with an intensity I had never seen before. It was both exhilarating and unnerving.
As the days progressed, she was relentless in her training, pouring all her energy into meeting the rigorous requirements for evaluation. We often trained together, though I had no aspirations to become a vampire myself. Her focus was intoxicating, and it ignited a fire within her that I couldn't help but admire, even as it sent a shiver down my spine.
But in the back of my mind, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was no longer about the transformation itself; it had become about the power that came with it. The very essence of Eleri seemed to shift as she embraced this new identity. It was like watching her metamorphose into someone unrecognizable, each day drawing her further from the girl I had grown up with.
Then came the final evaluations, the culmination of months of hard work and dedication. Eleri arrived at the designated arena, where the vampires conducted their assessments, her pulse quickening with anticipation. I stood off to the side, a mix of pride and worry swirling inside me. I could see the fierce determination etched into her features as she navigated through the trials, each task revealing her strength, agility, and cunning.
When the announcement came—Eleri had passed—I felt a rush of conflicting emotions. She was ecstatic, her face lighting up in a way that hadn't been seen since before the Sirens had come. But beneath that joy, I sensed a storm brewing, a darkness that hovered just out of reach. As she celebrated, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something far more complex than either of us could fully comprehend.
Eleri was going to become a vampire. The words echoed in my mind, a thrilling yet terrifying prospect. What would that mean for her? For us? Would she remain the girl I had known, or would this new identity consume her entirely? As I watched her glow with excitement, I made a silent promise to myself: I would stand by her, no matter what, even as the chilling tendrils of uncertainty tightened around my heart.
But while Eleri had been preparing for that, something had shifted inside me, too. Over the past year, I'd spent more time thinking about the Sirens than I cared to admit. There was something about the ocean, about the idea of leaving everything behind and starting fresh, that called to me in a way I didn't expect.
As we sat together in our room, I told Eleri about it.
As we sat together in our room, the dim light casting shadows across the walls, I felt the weight of my decision pressing down on me. I turned to Eleri, my voice barely above a whisper. "I think I'm going to do it. I think I'm going to volunteer to become a Siren."
Her gaze snapped to mine, an intensity I hadn't expected flickering in her eyes. For a long moment, she didn't say anything, just stared at me as if trying to decipher an ancient riddle. The air grew thick with tension, each second stretching longer than the last.
Finally, she spoke, her tone flat, like the surface of a still pond concealing depths I was afraid to explore. "Why? Why would you do that?"
"I don't know," I admitted, my heart racing. "I've just been thinking about it a lot. It feels like... it might be what I need." I let the words hang in the air, a fragile admission that felt like it could shatter at any moment.
Eleri didn't respond immediately. When she finally did, her voice sliced through the quiet, sharper than I anticipated. "I thought you didn't want to become a Siren."
"I didn't. Not at first," I said, shifting in my seat, the weight of her gaze pinning me down. "But lately, I've been thinking about it more. I don't know... it just feels right, like something's pulling me."
Her eyes darkened, and she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though the intensity behind her words felt more like a warning. "But you're supposed to be with me, Sera. We're supposed to stick together."
"We will," I replied quickly, trying to reassure her. "Just because I'm thinking about becoming a Siren doesn't mean I'm leaving you." I reached out, brushing my fingers against her arm, but the connection felt tenuous, like a thread stretched too thin.
Yet I could see it in her face—the hurt mingling with something more volatile: anger. The way her jaw clenched told me she didn't believe me. A storm was brewing behind those wide, desperate eyes.
From that moment, the air between us crackled with an unspoken tension. Eleri's fixation on our bond intensified, her every action underscoring that we were supposed to be inseparable. Each time I brought up the Sirens, I felt her mood darken, her body tensing as if I were igniting a fire inside her that she couldn't control.
The days dragged on, and the weight of my decision became increasingly heavy. I longed to talk to her, to make her see that this wasn't about abandoning her, but each time I tried, the chasm between us widened. I could feel her resentment coiling around us like a serpent, tightening with each passing moment.
When the Sirens returned for another round of recruitment, I knew I couldn't hold back any longer. I volunteered, a spark of hope igniting within me even as uncertainty loomed over my head. I needed to know if the ocean was calling to me, too.
But when I told Eleri, the air grew so cold it felt as if winter had descended upon us. She didn't say anything, her silence more thunderous than a storm. The look in her eyes chilled me to the bone—the coldness was palpable, a bitter frost creeping into my heart. This was different from before; this wasn't just disappointment. It was betrayal.
"I can't believe you would do this," she finally said, her voice low and trembling with fury. "You're choosing them over us."
"It's not like that," I protested, desperation creeping into my voice. "I'm not choosing them! I just need to find out who I am."
But Eleri shook her head, the hurt in her eyes morphing into something darker. "You're losing yourself, Sera. This isn't you."
Her words cut deeper than any knife could. I opened my mouth to respond, to explain, but the lump in my throat prevented me from speaking. I felt trapped between my desire for exploration and my loyalty to her, a split between the pull of the ocean and the gravity of our shared past.
The silence that followed was suffocating, filled with unspoken accusations and fears. I wanted to reach out, to bridge the growing divide, but it felt as though the chasm had turned into an abyss. Eleri's once vibrant spirit seemed to dim, and in its place rose an unsettling shadow that hinted at the darkness brewing just beneath the surface.
And in that moment, I knew that whatever happened next would change everything—not just for me, but for both of us.