A Siren's Song

Trigger #124: The Sala City Sirens

Organization Class: A group of sirens and merfolk originally brought together by Captain Valentine, the founder of Sala City. They have dedicated themselves to saving lost souls who find themselves “adrift at sea”, whether that’s literally or metaphorically. Sirens more often than not use music as their wand, and sing magical sonnets to transform the world around them.

Transformation Type: TG, Mermaid.

Threat Level: Benevolent. They’re basically the night life-guards of the sea, and they can carry a pretty mean tune.

Subject: Aarna Murphy, 19, Siren, Female, formerly Aravind Murphy, 19, Human, AMAB.

The following is a biographical account of events based on the subject's own testimonies and several eyewitness accounts.

“You need to stop embarrassing us.”

It was his freshman year at Sala City University. The school had put together a small talent show for incoming students, something to break the ice and make people feel welcome. There weren’t any auditions, all were welcome to perform on stage, those with talent… and those without.

Aravind loved folk songs. His father was Indian and his mother was Irish, so he had no shortage of song inspiration to draw from his culture. He was in love with the way that a song could bring so many different people closely together. How a melody could transform a body at rest into one vibrant with motion, or a single voice into an echoing chorus. There was just one problem.

No one on either side of Aravind’s family could carry a tune to save their life.

Under normal circumstances, this would be fine. The musically impaired and rhythmically challenged are just as capable of living long and fulfilling lives as the rest of us. Unfortunately for Aravind, he wanted to sing. Unfortunately for Aravind’s family, his singing made both ears and paint peel. His tastes were eclectic, and his most recent playlist came straight from the 1900’s. His current hyperfixation was sea shanties, you know, your “Leave Her, Johnny, Leave Her”’s and “Soon May the Wellerman Come”’s, but by next week he’d probably be singing Kajari again, which his father disapproved of, seeing as how it’s mostly performed by women.

Aravind’s latest performance of “If I Was a Blackbird” was a disaster, of course, though not from lack of trying on his part. He’d practiced on his own for weeks, preparing for this night. His reward was an awkward smattering of applause and his family in the audience gathering their things to leave as quickly and quietly as possible.

“You need to stop embarrassing us.”

His uncle had been the one to finally say it. His father had punched him in the arm for being so blunt, but in his cringing face as they waded through the crowd, Aravind could tell he secretly agreed with his brother.

I’m… an embarrassment…

That night, Aravind snuck out of his dorm and made his way to the sea shore. There was something captivating about the sea at night. The ocean breathed in its tides, in and out, the bright white moon waxing and waning in the sky. He took off his shoes and squeezed wet sand through his toes as he let the shock of ice-cold water splash across his feet. The air was brisk and soaked with salt.

He sucked in through his nose, and blew it out his mouth in a sigh.

“...Fine. I give up.”

No one answered him.

“...I give up… but if I’m gonna give up anyways… I want one last song… just to… have an outro to this stupid dream of mine…”

No one stopped him.

“No one’s around to hear me anyways, so… here goes…”

The words came crooked and crackled from his mouth, and yet, still somehow rang true as he sang quietly to himself.

♫ When I was a young girl, my fortune was sad,

I once went a-courting a true sailor lad; ♫

Aravind’s father didn’t much care for the fact that he preferred singing songs meant for women. Not so much in the sense of toxic masculinity or homophobia, but in the sense Aravind’s falsetto was particularly ear-piercing. And Aravind wasn’t even sure if he liked boys or not, as it always felt like something else was missing before he could even think about dating. But still, something about these kinds of songs just felt… right to him. 

♫ I courted him dearly by night and by day

But now for a sailor he’s gone far awa- ♫

   ♫ -now for a sailor he’s gone far away. ♫

 Aravind’s breath caught in his throat.

Another voice.

There was ANOTHER voice.

Aravind looked out at the murky black and blue horizon. A figure hiding behind the rocky shore. A pair of eyes matching his. A seal, maybe?

Aravind decided it was just an echo, then. Of course, the echo was far better pitched than his, but stranger things had happened. He continued.

♫ If I were a blackbird I’d whistle and sing,

I’d follow that vessel my true love sails in;

And on the top rigging I’d there build my nest

And lay there all night on his lily-white breas-

And lay there all night on his lily-white breast. ♫

♫ And lay there all night on his lily-white breast. ♫

Two voices now. There was no mistaking it. Someone… or something, was singing with him. He looked back to the figure from before. There were two of them now, staring right back at him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say they didn’t look like seals when he waded even closer. They looked like… but of course that was impossible. Was he finally losing his mind?

No matter. Seals or sirens, Aravind wasn’t going to be upstaged at his own farewell concert.

Except, the funny thing was, as Aravind belted out the next few verses with uncomfortable bravado, the two voices kept changing the key on him. He struggled to match them, raising and lowering the pitch of his voice like a radio being tuned to the right channel.

They weren’t challenging him… they were CORRECTING him. They were urging him on.

No one had ever told Aravind to keep singing. All he had ever heard was that he should stop.

But sometimes all one really needs is patience, and the right partners to practice with.

Aravind was smiling now, and you could hear it in his voice as he sang.

Aravind never knew his voice could be so elastic. He actually sounded like the kind of woman he pictured singing this song. Little did he know, the rest of his body was just as elastic, and just as feminine as his vocal cords. As he waded through the water and his singing technique became tighter, so too did his body. He shrank in his clothes, his limbs growing slender, his hips becoming wider and rounder. Her hair lengthened and waved in the midnight breeze. The cumbersome clarinet she’d been forced to carry between her legs shrank into a new kind of instrument entirely, followed by two big, tight drums inflating on her chest.

She was dancing now, a beautiful woman spinning and splashing her way in the water towards her mysterious friends on the rocky outcropping. Each verse was punctuated by her own surprised and enthralled laughter; she didn’t know that singing with others could be this fun! After all, no one had ever wanted to sing with her before. She started picturing the handsome sailor from the song, and herself as his pining lover, a woman dancing in a whirlpool of spinning skirts and pearlescent passions. She hugged herself and pictured his big, strong arms wrapped around her.

♫ My love’s tall and handsome in every degree,

His parents despise him because he loves me;

Although they despise him, and say what they may,

With breath in my body I’ll love him always. ♫

♫ If I were a blackbird I’d whistle and sing,

I’d follow that vessel my true love sails in;

And on the top rigging I’d build there my nest

And lay there all night on his lily-white-

B-BREASTS?! ♫

The music came to an abrupt halt as she first noticed the very last of her changes. Breasts. Oblong and opulent, heaving and swaying on her chest as she moved and breathed. She yelped as she looked over herself, spinning like a dog trying to chase its tail. When she finally stopped and let the shallows around her settle, she caught a glimpse of her reflection.

She was as beautiful as the midnight moon that hung high in the sky. And the sound of her voice simply drawing breath was even more so.

She looked to the strangers again. There were even more now, and now, she could tell they were actually women. Women like her, she knew, and that sent a little flutter of joy through her chest. But they were something else too. Something more. And more than anything else she had ever wanted, she wanted to join their chorus.

She continued the melody, her tone deeper and richer than it had ever been as she soon found herself swimming through the deep. The water was colder than cold, and soon her arms and legs were growing numb, but that wasn’t all they were growing.

Scales, shimmering blue, purple, and white like a betta fish crawled their way over her skin, followed by ruffled, triangular fins. She stripped all her clothes off in the water and let them sink, making way for the new, colorful flesh to grow. Her hair also soaked itself in the new colors her body was creating for her, staining itself in a rainbow-like gradient. Her thick thighs brushed closer and closer together with each kick of her legs until they fused from her very hips down to her toes, becoming one long, elegant fish tail. With her new scales, the water wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been a moment ago, in fact, it was like the most comfortable bath she had ever been in. And between the fins and the gills that suddenly carved their way into her neck, swimming literally became as easy as breathing. And singing became as easy as simply BEING.

When she reached the rocky outcropping, a small school of mermaids, just like her, giggled, and with welcoming arms pulled her up to the comfort of the mossy rocks.

Her head spun as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a still pool of water caught between the rocks.

“What am… I? What are… we…?” She asked tentatively. Even the simple act of speaking became songlike as it left her lips.

“We are the Sirens of this place, brought here in secret by Captain Valentine herself…” the oldest of her new sisters said warmly. “And you, my lovely little sea creature, have just sung the initiation song, and joined our chorus.”

Her head was spinning. Were it not for the small but sharp sensations that kept her grounded in reality, her fat tail pressed against the flat rock, the shiver of seabreeze creeping up her back, she’d have believed this was all just a desperate dream. She examined her hands now. They were webbed, and rubbery as she opened and closed her fingers. “‘If I were a Blackbird’ is your Initiation song? What are the odds my weird sea shanty fixation would lead to something like this…”

“Well, it’s YOUR initiation song,” one of the younger and more pedantic sirens chimed in, “It’s different for everyone. Mine was Lady Gaga.”

“Ah. I guess that makes sense… so… what happens now? We don’t have to actually lure sailors to their death now, do we…?”

“Goodness, no!” the elder balked, “That was just a myth derived from one too many horny, drunk men trying to throw themselves at us and almost drowning in the process. And those who did ‘drown’ were really castaways who chose to join our chorus. Honestly, it’s so ungrateful of them to spread rumors like that…”

“Oh… sorry! And… the tails and everything? Are we just stuck out in the ocean now, or-?”

“Your siren half only manifests when you’re in water. As soon as you dry off, you’ll get your legs back,” the elder assured her.

“Oh! That’s a relief! I was kind of worried about that…” she admitted bashfully.

“But I noticed you’re not worried about becoming a woman all of a sudden,” the younger siren teased with a knowing grin.

“Y-Yeah, well, I guess maybe I was always an alto at heart… and come to think of it I was maybe a little TOO interested when we learned about hijras in high school history class… plus all those video games where I only played the girl characters… shit, now that I think of it, this really should have been more obvious, huh…?” she said, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, hon, hindsight is 20/20. So, what’s your name then, new girl?” the younger asked, excitement in her eyes.

New girl. She REALLY liked the sound of that.

“My name is… Aarna.”

“Well, Aarna, we’ve still got some time before we need to go home and dry off. Ready for an encore?”

From the desk of

Mira Alcott

Head-Mistress of Transformations

(Special thanks to Taagraa for the suggestion, to my Test Readers, to VioletVelvet and Zoey for editing and to all of my Patrons for your support!)

(Based off of this rendition of "If I Was A Blackbird" by the Askew Sisters.)