Page 20 of When the Wicked Sing (The Leruna Sea #1)

Freezing water enveloped her, the pain searing her flesh. Mariana screamed in agony as imaginary flames scorched her skin, searing deeper with each passing second. She squeezed her eyes tight, the world around her dissolving into a chaotic blend of pain and confusion.

She fought against the river’s icy flow, commanding it to leave her be. But the relentless current swallowed her words, and terror spiked through her heart when nothing happened. What was happening to her body? Why was her magic failing her now when she needed it most?

The painfully cold water pushed her below, crashing over her head and drowning her cries for help. It was as if her power was trapped in a glass box, banging its fists and tearing at the shackles, pleading to be set free but finding no release.

Water filled her throat, and her gills, usually a source of comfort and life, burned with the intrusion.

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond the primal urge to survive.

Summoning every ounce of strength, she pushed herself up, her head bursting through the surface.

She gasped for air, each breath a desperate fight.

Coughing up water, she dragged herself to the river’s edge.

Tears slid down her face, blurring her vision and mixing with the river’s icy grip.

Her whole body was on fire despite the lack of a single flame.

Each movement was a new wave of torment.

Her body began to transform. Her legs felt blistered, red, and aching, as if they were being flayed alive.

Grinding her teeth together, she shoved her bleeding hands beneath her chest and pushed herself out of the water.

Her muscles ached painfully, but she refused to fall.

The wind thrashed against her mercilessly, making her sensitive skin sting.

Her wet hair whipped against her face and neck, adding to her torment.

Kneeling, she sat on her legs and allowed her eyes to dip down to her body. She shouldn’t have looked. Her once pale blue skin was peeling away, revealing inflamed warm tones under the haunting moonlight. Each flake that fell was a piece of her identity, a shard of her soul ripped away.

Her fingers slipped against the wet buckles of her chest armor, struggling to get it off.

When the protective shell finally fell away, panic poisoned her veins.

Fear danced in her stomach as her whole body, mind, and soul refused to accept what she saw.

Slowly, she brought a shaky hand up to her chest. As she dragged it down, her beautiful scales fell to the ground.

She lifted a handful up to her face and stared in horror at their bright hues fading before her eyes, turning to lifeless ash.

Her heart shattered, and the world began to spin.

The trees around her swirled like the raging storm inside her.

The sound of the river at her back became an agonizing melody of a cruel truth that squeezed her chest. She begged the Goddess to tell her what was happening, but deep down beneath a thick layer of hope, she knew.

As the truth wound its way around her destroyed, broken body, Mariana looked up at the night sky and screamed. She was trapped. Trapped in a foreign skin. Trapped in her turbulent, violent thoughts, and all she could think was, why? Why would her mother do this to her with so much at stake?

Why, why, WHY?!

Only when her throat was raw and hoarse did she finally fall silent, a sob escaping from her lips. The night air was thick with her despair, echoing her unanswered questions.

Dax appeared in front of her, his face a blur through the tears.

His mouth moved like he was trying to speak to her, but she heard nothing.

She was lost in her world, drowning beneath the weight of what her mother had done.

His warm, calloused hands, grounded her against the storm raging inside.

“Mari, look at me,” he said, his voice cutting through the haze.

She clung to the sound, to the solidity of him.

“Why did she do this to me?” she whispered, then turned her gaze back down to her chest. The pain was so unbearable; she swore she could feel her mother’s claws tearing her apart. Each breath was a struggle, each heartbeat a reminder of her transformation.

Mariana knew it then, the undeniable truth she couldn’t ignore.

She was no longer a siren. The realization crawled through her mind like a parasite, spreading tendrils of despair through every thought.

Her scales—the essence of her people, her power, her very soul—were gone, and in their place, only fragility remained.

She felt hollow, foreign in her own skin .

Her vision darkened, and she prayed for her Goddess to take her away. To end this suffering, this living nightmare. But the Goddess remained silent, leaving her to face this new reality alone.