Sirens Bay

On the outskirts of Dimmore lies Sirens Bay, where mortals build their docks and throw their nets into waters they should know better than to touch. The sirens never leave the sea—they don’t need to. They linger just offshore, their pale faces breaking the waves, their voices curling through the mist like hooks waiting to catch.

And the irony? The mortals know. They hear the songs at night, low and sweet, threading through the crash of the tide. They see the shadows beneath their boats, long and sinuous, circling closer with every pass. Yet still they fish. Still they drink on the docks, laughing with their backs to the water as though the ocean isn’t listening.

The sirens wait. Patient, amused. They don’t need to lure sailors far from shore—their prey already gathers willingly on the edge of the bay, one careless step from tumbling into their arms.