Being a siren sucks.
Every customer stares at me in attentive silence as I sit at the least conspicuous table in the back corner of this mom-and-pop Italian restaurant.
Well, excuse me for clearing my throat.
Going out in public wasn’t the best idea, but this afternoon, I held a heated conversation with the actors on my television. They apologized to each other with caresses and phrases of sweetness, but I ended up on the floor, hugging a pillow in the empty silence. When a show becomes my reality, it’s time to leave the house.
Now, as usual, I’ve enthralled the humans. Whoops. They study me as if the next thing I do will make their lives complete. The attention is normal, but I’m the last being they should covet, because there’s much more to my species than being a lust magnet. A few more words from my hypnotic voice and they’d lick my shoes if I asked them to. Not that I would.