“The siren's purse, eh?” said the captain with a glimmer of fairy tales and hope in his faraway eyes. “Did she sing to you down there?” he cocked his head to starboard side and the murky water below. Sailors gathered around, taking a turn to swig rum from the bottle and awaiting a story to be retold like the ones of old.
“The siren,” I began, feeling the strain on my lungs burn with the words upon my lips. I know what they wanted, but I could no more amuse them than I could myself. And so I began. “You think you know the story. You've heard it before, from sailors who regale the tales in ale-made stupors. Do not believe them, for if they live to tell the tale they fail to tell you one important thing—the truth... There's no angelic songs or golden hair or beautiful eyes to lull you into the deep. Just the endless depths of the ocean. The rest is just stuff of myth and legends. Pretty little lies.”
They stared at me wide-eyed, and I continued with my tale, “Whether you believe me or not is none of my concern. I ask you only to listen…”