I Didn’t Want to Kill You
I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to kill you.
I’d never experienced that before. Never have I felt guilty for singing, for luring a sailor in, for drowning him. It is, after all, in my nature. Humans are taught from a young age to hunt for food, for sport, for power. For our kind, it is the same.
I didn’t want to kill you. When I looked into your deep, golden eyes and placed my hands upon your scruffy, bronzed throat, I felt the depths of Tartarus stir within me. I wanted to keep singing and let you listen to my sweet, siren song.
I didn’t want to kill you.
So I killed us both instead.