The Siren's Scion
she whispered, the picture of fragile grief.
That's when I felt it—the tie to Elara, humming with a violent, new energy. My anger, my truth, my seventeen years of silenced screams focused into a single, white-hot point of will. I pushed.
Elara's head snapped back as if pulled by a string. Her eyes, those sea-green pools of calculated innocence, widened in pure, unscripted panic.
She tried to speak, to form the next practiced, sorrowful word, but her mouth opened, and my voice came out. It was flat. Cold. Devoid of all her musical tone.