The sickness had no name. No diagnosis. No prescription. Just a quiet unraveling.
Diana sat in the bathtub, her knees pulled to her chest, warm water lapping around her ankles. The silence of the house pressed in, thick and heavy. Only the faucet's slow drip and the faint hum in her ears filled the space. Not the kind of ringing you get after a concert. No—this was deeper. Like something singing through her blood.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for her neck, brushing the skin below her ear. It was smooth. Too smooth. Almost… slick. But when she looked in the mirror, there was nothing there. No rash. No blemish. No proof she wasn't going insane.
"Just stress," she whispered to herself. "That's all."
She stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around her shoulders. The mirror stared back at her. Same face. Same pale skin. But her eyes—they looked different lately. Brighter. Greener. Not the leafy green of spring, but something colder. Like sea glass.
"Diana? You okay?" her father's voice called from the hallway.
She jumped, heart racing. "Y-Yeah! Just finishing up!"
A pause. "Dinner's ready."
She dressed in silence, pulling on a hoodie despite the summer heat. The strange chill that clung to her skin hadn't gone away in days. Like something inside her was getting colder, even as the world baked under the July sun.
---
Downstairs, the smell of grilled chicken filled the kitchen. Her dad was already seated, flipping through the newspaper like he still lived in 1995. He looked up when she entered.
"You're pale again."
She forced a laugh. "Thanks. Always wanted to hear that before dinner."
"I'm serious, Di." He folded the paper. "You haven't been sleeping."
She stabbed at her rice. "I haven't been anything lately."
He didn't respond. His gaze lingered on her a second too long, then dropped back to his plate. That was the problem. He never asked real questions. Never looked at her like he wanted the truth. It was always about keeping things normal. Controlled. Silent.
After a while, she said quietly, "Did Mom get sick like this before she... left?"
The clink of his fork against the plate was loud enough to make her flinch. He didn't look up.
"Eat your food."
Diana stared at him. "You always do this."
"Do what?"
"Shut down. Whenever I bring her up."
His jaw tightened. "Because there's nothing to talk about."
"She was my mother," Diana said, the words slipping out sharper than she intended. "Don't I get to know who she was? What she looked like? Why she—?"
"She's gone." His voice was final. Heavy. Like a door slamming shut.
Gone. The same word he always used. Not dead. Not missing. Just… gone.
Diana pushed her plate away. "I'm not hungry."
---
Her room was the only place that felt like hers anymore. Old band posters still hung on the walls, curling at the edges. A bookshelf sat crammed with fantasy novels she used to lose herself in. Lately, even those couldn't distract her.
She opened her laptop and typed the same search she had for weeks now.
"Siren mythology. Symptoms. Real or fake?"
Dozens of results popped up. Most were fiction. Stories of sea women who sang men to death, who lured sailors with beauty and killed them with claws. But a few articles felt… off. Too specific. Descriptions like:
> "Mild auditory hallucinations, usually humming."
"Rapid skin cell regeneration, especially around the ears and neck."
"Obsession with water, especially during transformation windows."
Her hands trembled again. She snapped the laptop shut.
"No," she muttered. "That's insane. That's not real."
---
The house was quiet that night, like it always was. Her dad stayed downstairs, probably watching old war documentaries. She curled up under her blanket, staring at the ceiling.
But the humming came back.
Louder this time. Not from outside. Not from the house.
From her.
Her body vibrated faintly with the sound, like her blood was tuning to some forgotten frequency. Her heartbeat slowed to match it. Steady. Deep. Like waves crashing miles away.
And for the first time, she thought she could hear words inside it.
Like a song. A lullaby.
In a voice she didn't know.
A woman's voice.
---
She woke at 3:13 a.m. drenched in sweat. The humming was gone. But her mouth was dry. She stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the sink.
And froze.
Her reflection wasn't quite right. Her skin shimmered faintly, almost translucent in the moonlight. And beneath her ears… faint ridges. Not scars. Not bruises.
Gills.