Lost at Sea

Eleanor felt Lizbeth’s teeth rip into the side of her neck and cried out as her vision turned black. A thousand-year-old siren on top of a siren who was only stricken by love and what her life used to be. The thought amused her. How could she ever have thought she could win this?

The world around her was becoming fuzzy at the edges, like the soft fur of a kitten curled up against her collarbone, but still Eleanor smiled.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Eleanor whispered. Lizbeth paused mid-swipe, baring her teeth aggressively.

“You never were,” she snapped. “Maybe that was your problem.” Her hand came down hard against Eleanor’s face. Stinging pain tore through her and washed her vision through white. “I never understood why you couldn’t just be normal? It was as though everything I said, you had to do the exact opposite?”

Eleanor spat out the blood in her mouth and watched as it diluted into the water around them. “Apparently I was always quite the rebel,” she explained, smiling as she watched Lizbeth’s face flood red.

“Idiot,” Lizbeth snarled. “You were my favorite sister.”

She brought her hand up again, nails elongating into sharp claws that were about to rip into Eleanor’s soft belly. Eleanor closed her eyes, the fight drained from her veins. If this was how she was going to die, she wasn’t all that concerned. She’d died once before, so she couldn’t feel much fear at doing it again.

Instead of pain, however, she heard the soft wet sound of someone being stabbed. Eleanor opened her eyes wearily and stared at the sharp piece of wood protruding through Lizbeth’s stomach.

Her eyes were wide as she stared blankly into the distance. “Eleanor,” she whispered. “I remember it all.”