The Sirens

by Emilia Hart

“She’s a merrow,” Eliza said. “From the tír fo thuinn, the land beneath the waves. Just like in Mam’s story.”

a voice had valleys and crags, telling you of sadness or delight. You could almost feel it under your fingers, like it was land.

With this awakening, there’d been something else, too. A new awareness of her power. Freed from her prior inhibitions—from the compulsion to be nice, to be a good girl—she’d become something she could never have imagined being. She’d become … dangerous.

Most people just want an easy life. It’s unsettling when someone starts pulling apart the stories we’ve stitched together, the things we tell ourselves for comfort.

There’s something about this place, something different. It keeps its women safe.”

purple as the bruises he gave me.

She had asked Lucy to make a choice. But sometimes, there is no choice.