Storytime. Oil 2.

James saw her first and summoned me over shouting "SIREN!" across the deck while pointing to the cliffs above and motioning to me simultaneously with his other arm. I quickly silenced him by throwing my hand over his mouth and hugging him tightly to stop his frantic movements. I knew immortals could not tolerate being called by any name other than their own and it often caused an involuntary response to conjure a curse in which the victim can think of nothing but the true name until they cast themselves in front of stampeding unicorns in despair (and if they survive that always suffer from fits insanity from being touched by the most beautiful thing in the world). She would have heard alright, but not a muscle stirred and her face remained frozen. She was something far more sinister and perhaps even a little more rare than a Siren (whose numbers are said to lie between 2 and 5-another voyage I planned to make should we survive this one). She did not have the feathers of a bird nor the song that ends in death. I made a mental note to add Mythological Creatures 101 to my employee handbook as I slowly corrected him which was not by choice but by the force of truth, of what things are. "She's a Harpy...a Snatcher" my voice carrying as far away as the approaching storm though I said it low enough that even James had strained to hear. He looked at me like he had never heard of such a thing and one glance at his face betrayed him as much as his eyes for they did not reveal the fear and sorrow he would know from seeing something so glorious and so black in the very same moment.

Three names silently rolled through my mind, my lips echoing their form over and over until only one remained--willing itself to be heard. Saying a name releases its power, and it is impossible to contain once it is known unless you possess the skill of magic only sorcerers in the tallest towers of the highest mountains that touch the night can dream of during the REM stage of sleep (and I have yet to find one). Futile as it seemed I tried to fight back but she would not be held. My jaw clenched, my lips firm against her escape but she twisted my tongue so tight I hurled her into the dawn to her freedom. "Celaeno" fell from my mouth in an unwilling, flat whisper and I watched as the letters rose into the air like the mist from the waves pounding the sides of the ship below. Watching with me James asked, "What does it mean?"-his voice now heavy and desperate with an understanding that comes to any man or beast that see more of the world than they had only moments before. I paused before answering, though it mattered not now that she was known and known out loud to more than knew her before. "Darkness".