baby, sing me a [s o n g]

[hatter]

siren
SWEET AS SUGAR
COLD AS ICE
HURT ME ONCE
ILL KILL YOU TWICE

NAME... siren song
AGE... 125 moons, looks to be about 25, the age of her passing
GENDER... she-cat
CLAN... nightclan
POSITION... ---

APPEARANCE...

Enchanting. Female. Fine-boned. Delicate. Are these words that you would use to describe a siren?

You can see miss Siren as such as well. Starting off with her build, she is dainty. For such a daunting creature, you would expect a stocky, large, warrior, not an apprentice-sized she-cat with lean legs and a delicate torso. She is tiny. Lithe. Lean. Fine. Her entire body is writhing with muscles, roped here and there, but they are subtle. Unnoticeable until it is too late. What she lacks in size, she makes up in agility and cunning. Her paws are no more than flower petals, small and feline. They harbor claws of steel, be warned. Perhaps her look of innocence contributes to how persuasive she can be. It would make sense, with her short but tapered muzzle and alert, triangular cat ears.

Her nose is angular, while her head and maw is gently sloped to perfection. Her tail is long, skinny, and often is used when Siren is talking. A human may use their hands to talk; Siren uses her tail. Her muzzle conceals sharp, almost-canine teeth, well-used. Whiskers sprout from her cheeks, snow white and stark. As for her coat, Siren can mould into any dark surrounding. Black. Pure, shimmering black. Head to toe, she is dipped with this deep color, striking and shadowy. The blackness seems like it could eat you alive and in the moonlight, shining and dancing, light is reflected off of it.

As for Siren’s playful eyes, they are almond-shaped, borderline round, and are the definition of ‘vixen’. They glow, like they are lit from within, and are thinly lined with white. Their color is not quite green- more teal and ocean-like. Yes, like that. Waves swelling on rocks in the coldest of winters. Not only are they inviting, they also glint like precious stones- sharp and dangerous. Wearing an expression of tease or innocence, occasionally flaring fire, they stand out tremendously against her darkest of coats.

PERSONALITY...

Siren is not who she may seem. Every single part of who she is isn’t what it seems. And if it is, then it branches to a part of her deeply scarred history. So, in depth, I will explain the outside and the inside of this mysterious vixen.

Calm, cool, collected. Sometimes even emotionless. Siren is the absolute master at hiding each and every one of her emotions. One moment she’ll look absolutely furious and the next? A 100% blank expression. Nothing but distasteful pleasure. It’s kept her kicking for years and she considers it her mantra. This way, Siren can be incredibly confusing. She screws with your mind. If she wishes you to think she’s in love with her, then you will be. But then she’ll skillfully remove you like a leech. And feel nothing. Or, at least, that is what she says. The truly odd thing about this she-cat is that maybe, just maybe, she can love again. Since her failed affections many moons before now, she can’t handle it. As she confuses others, she confuses herself. She’s not exactly sure what the word ‘love’ means to her, and therefore toys with it frequently. How? How does such a creature of the night not be completely set on destruction? It’s a mystery. Inside, perhaps Siren is just a broken kitten, locked away from all of the joys and adorations of life. Maybe she has a heart. Somewhere.

To go with this trait is her absolute fear of attachments. Oh, she’s scared. She runs from them. She doesn’t trust them. In fact, she doesn’t trust anything. Within her cold little world nothing is as it may seem at first. For this reason, she believes nothing. Forever she is running from the thought that someone could shatter her as widespread as Phantomheart did. If looked deeper into this, I suppose you could trace it back to her hard exterior. Not only does Siren lack trust in the intimate department, she also lacks it in the physical ways. This black cat needs no help- or, at least, will do everything in her power not to need help. She’s confident in her ability to get things done herself, and others notice this. NightClanners send her to carry out different things, with hefty costs. She is the true definition of independent. Every moon, Siren will dissapear for a couple of days, just to mix it up and keep cats wondering. What she does is anyone’s guess. The point is that she can take care of her own hinie.

Siren just oozes the atmosphere of ‘danger, stay away’. Her dangerous smile, her playful, sharp eyes. She terrifies some with just a look. A gift? Perhaps. But probably not. At the same time, you can expect to be intrigued by the missus. Isn’t that how creatures minds play out? Curiosity, the thrill of danger- it always wins over reasons. Oh, how very, very sharp her claws are. Imagine the senior warrior, moons of battle training. Well, she has had more. More moons. By now, she should be borderline dead. She’s deadly and it would be wise not to cross her. Actually, I think it would be easier in general not to go near her at all. Please, please run if you come across this feline. Despite her cool exterior, if you anger her; well, let’s just say her temper is as short as the width of a pin.

Manipulative is an understatement. No- this side of Siren is probably the most deadly of all. Her voice, oh, her sweet voice, is the sound of pure silk. Honey sweet, bone-chillingly song-like. It can stop a tom in his tracks. When she asks for something, the answer is almost always yes. It may be something in the way she walks, maybe the way she talks- but probably that look in her eyes. Hypnotizing. Her mother was just the same, as carefully planning as she was. Siren will not make herself seen if she does not wish so, and her perfectly executed moves are like chess. She thinks through, calculates, everything.

On top of all of this, Siren is as flirty as you should have expected. A wink of her eyes, a tail brush, a small smirk. She sees emotions as play-toys for her taking. Occasionally, she’ll think to challenge herself, see if she can win what she pleases. But even this becomes boring. It’s cruel, but she often dangles what the cat’s true desire is directly in front of them before snatching it away. For example, a NightClan’s freedom. Salvation from the Dark Forest. In these ways, Siren can be viewed as incompassionate- heartless. Maybe she is. I mean, really. Who finds joy in the pain of others? Her sweet, lying, cunning ways are dark.

Lastly, oh lastly, we come to the inherited power that she gained when coming into the Dark Forest. The ability to manifest herself into the real life clans. Oh yes, not only can she flash into whomever’s dreams she wishes, persuading. She can, for short periods of time, become real. To the point where a claw scratch from her causes horribly real injuries. No, your eyes do not fool you. It’s not a dream. Because she’s really there.

So, I seriously hope after reading that that you managed to get a grasp for who Siren is. I’m not entirely happy with this personality and I may rework at a later date.

HISTORY...

If the end is so much better; why don't we just live forever?

Siren was born like any other cat- an amazement to anyone she is ever willing to tell. She was not born in the shadowy abyss of a cave, nor did she eat her way out of her mother’s stomach, as rumors may go. She simply came into the world, in StormClan’s sheltered and carefully protected nursery, deep into the night. Perhaps something remarkable to point out is the lack of a moon. A new moon. Along with her came two other males, a weak near-grey male, and a dark and heavy tom. It wasn’t even that she was born first- Blazekit was. She was the middle child, and would continue to be somewhere in the midst of Whisperkit and Blazekit for moons. Her mother and father, deeply in love but generally pretty average, were named Gracefeather and Heronwing. Neither were black felines, and neither had the seafoam eyes that Sirenkit had.

Back then, Sirenkit could be considered how she is now- minus the evil and hatred. She was flirty, she was fun-loving, and she was selfish. Selfish to the bone. Even from the time she could open her eyes, she was a looker, and worked it like it was second nature. For the next three moons, her and her brothers discovered the world, testing out friendships and their new legs. One kit in particular took a serious liking to Sirenkit. No, not a liking: an obsession. Yes, Siren led the poor thing on- but it’s who she is. Driftkit was his name, and he never let her out of his sight. At one point. His attentions were cute, and it made the sly she-cat feel noticed. But soon, she was simply annoyed. Her loyal brother, Whisperkit, told her to let him down easily, but she would never shy away from idolization- it was against her religion.

When the she-cat came to the young age of four moons, the rainstorms were unrelenting. For an entire moon, all it did was rain. Every cat forgot what dry felt like, and they started to starve from lack of prey. When the flooding was at its very worst and Sirenkit was flaunting herself around camp, working her drenched coat, the floodwaters overflowed. Straight into camp. She was swept from under her paws, yelping as the water clogged her lungs. The camp was evacuated, and she was trapped in a small clearing, unseen to her family. She figured she would die, she churned at the murky sea, eyes wide with terror. Then, as her head dipped under for a final time, tiny Driftkit reached down, grabbing her scruff and pulling with all his might. She thrashed, grasping onto the ledge of a branch with all of her might. Looking down, she saw Driftkit fall into the twirling tidepool, looking up with pleading eyes. If she let go, she could possibly drown. And Sirenkit was selfish- she liked her life too much to give it away for a pesky admirer. So the previous StormClanner steeled herself, landing upon a jutting rock. Driftkit had disappeared, and where guilt should have been was replaced with relief.

Driftkit’s body was found days later, bloated and dead. Sirenkit still could not muster up the kindness to feel guilty, nor sorrowful. Even when she saw his mother weeping over his lifeless body. Maybe, even back then, she harbored a douse of cruelty. And maybe if her heart hadn’t been broken later on, she still would have lived the same life. Nonetheless, the femme grew slowly- but still somewhere in the middle of her brothers. Blazekit was huge and she was sure he would be an excellent warrior, while Whisperkit strayed towards the medicine den. He was a dreamer, Blazekit was a fighter, and Sirenkit was, yet again, somewhere in between. Her jealousy for Blazekit grew. She wanted to be on top- the best. Finally, itching for time away from camp, young Sirenkit became a paw, along with Blazepaw and Whisperpaw- the new medicine cat apprentice. Her mentor was a fiery watrrior just like herself, with a dark coat to match. Lunarstorm- not to be messed with. She trained hard, attempting to override her brother. Yes, she turned into a dangerous contender. But never as dangerous as Blazepaw. Toms flocked, as it always went, but Sirenpaw would never, ever consider settling. One in particular, the same as when she wa s akit, was Rockpaw. He never meant any harm, and was not obsessive as Driftkit had been. He was simply there- kind and strong. Maybe one day something more than friendship could have blossomed on Siren’s part, but we’ll never know.


She was not around the death site when it happened. No, she was by herself, residing over a piece of freshkill. The camp was pretty empty and when warriors rushed in, they jolted to wakefulness. The report was short: Rockpaw had slipped over a cliff to a certain death. His bones were shattered- no pain was felt. This time, to her credit, the she-cat was truly sad. He was worth at least something to her- which, mind you, was a rarity. Clanmates started to whisper rumors; that she was like a black widow. Her lovers came to a demise. The next male that came into her life was quite the opposite of her previous relationships. She was interested in him. Not the other way around.

Unfortunately, forbidden romances are what make these stories and so as it goes, he was not one of her own. He was a medium-sized SeaClanner, and maybe what made her change her mind about love was how he at first wanted nothing to do with her. At first, it was just slipping in and out of shadows watching him. Later though, her little mission from afar became a meet and greet. Floodpaw was his name, and he was as handsome as the moon. When they first met, he was exactly how he should have been, vague, careful. But Sirenpaw saw it as a challenge, and never would she back away from one. She would seek him out, watching for him, until he started to warm up to her presence. Soon, all she could think of was him, and Lunarstorm was concerned. What had happened to her protégée apprentice?

So it went for two moons, and Sirenpaw, although not accelerating in battling quite so quickly as before, managed to become a warrior. Sirensong- the swift and the deadly. In the midst of this, her mother and father both passed away- one from a disaster and the other from pure heartbreak. Her and Floodfall continued to meet secretly, and then the whispers of war between their two clans began. Tensions were heavy, but at the same time thin enough to break with a single move. When a border scrimmage was initiated, all hell broke loose. Moments before being summoned to war, torn by emotions, Sirensong found Floodfall and in the bath of white moonlight, he told her that he loved her. She believed him.

SeaClan and StormClan battled. It was by the moon, just after the Gathering, and Sirensong was on fire. She darted, hoping so deeply that she didn’t run into Floadfall that it was tearing up her very soul. She swiped, she ducked, she tackled. And then she saw him. Floodfall was matching her moves to the par, but was against three of her own. There was no way any cat except perhaps Blazeclaw could manage. It was too much for her to bear, and the rage in her clanmate’s eye was terrifying. So just as he pulled his paw back, she leaped in front of him. Her eyes wide with dumbfoundedness, she was torn from side to side. Blood fell, and her clanmate screeched in horror. The way she had done it had looked as if she was just caught in the way of a deathblow. Floodfall ran, as did the rest of SeaClan while Sirensong bled buckets onto the cool, carnage-filled floor.

The wounds were serious, but she was not aching with regret. Just the pain. Her brother, Whisperwhip, guessed the truth. She knew he had, but he never said anything about it to her. He just nursed her back to health, which took a hefty three moons. Floodfall was cut off from her, and she missed him dearly. His words of ‘I love you’ were etched into her mind, and the moment she was released from her prison, she hunted for him. To her utter dismay, when she found him, he was with a different she-cat. Streampath, a white female from his own clan. She was naïve, blinded with the love. All she could be was confused. They met repeatedly again after this, but Sirensong was wary. Her blackness gave her the skills she needed to stalk Streampath. A moon after her first look at the white lover, another Gathering came. Siren was picked as an obvious choice, and she travelled lightly, bouncing with excitement at seeing Floodfall.

Oh yes, he was there. But he was there with a pregnant she-cat. A white pregnant she-cat. Streampath was heavy with kits- and Siren knew without a single doubt that they were Floodfall’s. Heartbroken, Sirensong fled the clearing, stumbling and vision blurry with the tears. How? Why? It took only hours for that grief to manifest into cold, hard, horrible rage. Evil, blinded, white rage. Something snapped. Her mind whirled with the pure desire for revenge. No more nice cat. On that night, she vowed never, ever to love again. And she vowed to kill them. Kill them all. At the next sunset, she crept into their territory, wild with ferocity. Her cold claws captured Streampath, and she baited Floodfall with her life. She told him she would let the queen go after she destroyed him. You can assume that she lied. She sliced his throat open, directly in front of her, and crossed an x over his heart. His love followed him the same way, and Sirensong felt nothing. Just triumph. This was the turn in her life. When cats lives no longer mattered.

Whisperwhip stepped from behind her, eyes round and wide with utter disgust. He cursed at her, swearing he would stop her. But he never got the chance. His blood was on her paws too. She had murdered her own brother in the bloodlust of it all, and still on a rampage, dragged the SeaClan bodies to the border, masking her scent with seasoned perfection and removing any trace of herself. Whisperwhip was taken to the left wing of StormClan’s camp. When she returned to her territory her elder brother was waiting for her. Blazeclaw and all of his greatness. Their confrontation was legendary. Blood against blood. Inside, she knew it would come to this. They were evenly matched for a long while, panting from the strain. He ripped open her shoulder, she twisted his paw. It was savage, and just when Blazeclaw was getting the advantage, her clan showed up. Exile. That was what her leader had said. A slash at his nose and a hiss as loud as thunder. The warriors exploded and she ran, ran as far as she could. Outside of the territories. Her mind was warped. It had all changed so quickly. Exile. She was officially a rogue.

‘Song’ was dropped, and all she was was Siren. Her weary paws found cover within a large tree, hiding within the roots. No search party would find her if she didn’t wish to be found. The outsiders had tribe of their own, and defending her territory was not easy. Slowly, very slowly, she built up a wide ring of hunting grounds, edging out the lynxes. When a feline would cross them, she offered no second chances. They were dead within a day. The huntress did not return to the clans, and hoped for an all-out war. Yes, it happened. But she never went back to see it firsthand. No compassion, not anymore. Compassion was for the weak, and to survive out here you needed to banish it. True to who she had become, Siren died kicking and screaming. Literally. Like any cat or person alike, her luck eventually ran out. The pride of lynxes caught up with her, fed up with her advancing borderline. Launching an attack on her tree fort, a horde of them assaulted her. She fought skillfully, taking a few with her. But whenever one went down, another popped straight back up. Her cold eyes showed no pain, and she spat at the last lynx to make the killing blow. Siren was not remorseful, only spiteful. No longer was she scared of dying.

Where she awoke was not where she had expected. An endless, deep, black as night forest, reeking of death and dismay. It spoke of pure hopelessness and Siren screeched and screamed in fury. The gods had sent her to the Dark Forest, she knew. Remember, she had grown up on the stories of where evil cats went. Why had they not let her be? Let her fade into nothingness? At least this way she could take revenge and lash out on the clans. Yes, it shouldn’t have caused so much turmoil in her heart, but it had. Siren wandered aimlessly, and did not come across a soul until Famine. He was old, ancient really, and was residing beside a moonlit pool. She didn’t expect him to be such a nimble fighter. When she leaped on him, he threw her off with a paw flick. That was the beginning of an uneasy truce. In return for her help and assistance, Famine explained to her the ropes of the Dark Forest. How to walk into StarClan and tramp over the clans. He was as surprised as she when she killed a bird in the real life.

She could become real, and she could cause serious damage to clanmates. Suddenly, she was an asset to the NightClanners. And thus began her goal to plant seeds of darkness in the heads of others. So deeply in her bones was and is the unexplainable need to despise the clans. Her present target is unknown to her at the moment, but she sits in wait for a seed of evil. Crazy as it may seem, Siren has a ridiculous dream to begin a war with the heaven of them all- StarClan. Because she knows from experience that when one of them are killed, they simply explode into starlight. And without the good, is there not just evil?

They tell me to fight to the end; but endings aren't so sweet.

[Crush]

Accepted
Welcome to Something Beautiful! Please, do not forget to post in the taken names list to avoid repeated names!