Archive of Our Own

The chambers of Oceanus, at the edge of Poseidon’s domain, were nigh never devoid of song. Though the most lucrative bounties resided above, where ships of weak-willed men sailed far and wide, some odd few sirens preferred the embrace of the dark, of the dead, and, most of all, of their lead singer, Scylla.  

Yet, much to the relief of the Princess Melinoë, who was venturing into the hidden places of her father’s kingdom yet again, this night was most strangely quiet. 

Scylla traced her nail, sharp and monstrous, as all of her seemed to be, along the edges of the blood-red star in the center of her chest. Before her, a tall mirror reflected what she still, despite all of her bravado, despised to look upon. No longer was she an image of delicate femininity or something to be admired. No longer was she, truly, in anyone’s view but in her own delusions, any kind of star. Who was she kidding?

Yet, as she gazed into her own eyes, longing for them to be the same blue they had been so long ago, her reflection was joined by another. Gently, Roxy’s hands, soft and pink as coral, settled on her form from behind. Resting her head on Scylla’s shoulder, she stared, not into the mirror, but into the eyes that had made so many men cower and had watched so many drown. And she was not afraid. 

“Scylla, darling,” Roxy murmured, lithe red tail entwining with a dark, slimy tentacle as though the two were no different in her eyes. “If you keep looking at our girlfriend like that, we’re going to have problems.”

Scylla laughed, baring her teeth in a glamorous, sharp–toothed smile. “You’re not scary, Roxy.”

Roxy pouted playfully, as if she had truly considered her silky, ambrosia-hued hair and graceful, gently-sloping pink silhouette to be worthy of the utmost fear. 

“Rude,” she huffed, sticking out her tongue.

Meanwhile, Jetty, applying a final stroke of glossy green lipstick, watched them from the corner of her eye, fondly sighing at their antics. Fates, how she adored them. She abandoned her seat and—with remorse, as any siren beautiful as herself—her mirror, choosing instead to settle atop Scylla’s lap, where she could be nearer to her two uttermost loves.

For a short moment, as Roxy had, she simply looked into Scylla’s eyes. What could they see in there that she could not? And if the eyes were, as they say, the windows to the soul, how could they possibly love the dark, evil heart she held within? She had hurt so many. They should have feared her. And yet…

“Mm,” Jetty murmured, trailing a finger along her jaw, “But you’re not scary either, baby. We could take her, yeah, Rox?”

Roxy grinned, nodding her approval. ”Oh, definitely. I distract her with my…” She lifted a hand, sensually, dramatically, drawing it down along the curve of her body, ”…wits, of course, and you get at her with those teeth.”

“Ooh, Rox, you’re a mastermind.” Reaching over, Jetty tugged her closer by her jaw, proving her appreciation in a quick—yet distinctly unchaste—kiss. As they parted, she nipped at Roxy’s lower lip, as if to say how’s that for teeth? ”So you better be nicer to our girl, huh? Tell her she’s pretty. Now.” 

”You’re killing me, gals! I…” Scylla turned from her reflection, embarrassed. She couldn’t bear to say such things with the truth glaring her in the face. Then again, maybe … her truth had become a bit skewed. Maybe years of being viewed as the only one deserving of blame, as the only “monster” of her story, had convinced her of things that weren’t so. Maybe her gals were right, as they—frustratingly—so often were. ”I-I’m … pretty?” she stammered, unsure.

”Good, baby,” Jetty purred against her skin.

From either side, her gals rewarded her with kisses, Roxy’s lipstick leaving behind a column of pink marks along her neck as Jetty scattered smudges of green across her face.

”You’re absolutely gorgeous,” Roxy whispered into her ear. Tender as always, she stroked her hand along one of the many sea-green tentacles from which Scylla’s hair was composed, delighting in the little shiver she received in response. ”Such pretty hair…”

”Your eyeliner is always perfect,” Jetty added, coaxing Scylla’s face to turn so she could kiss her properly. Her lips were warm, soft, desperate to prove a point as they met hers. “Baby, you taste so damn good,” she breathed against her lips.

”Just beautiful, darling,” Roxy insisted.

”Our perfect girl.”

”Perfect.”

”Ughhh,” Scylla groaned, hiding her face behind clawed hands as though the flush of her cheeks could be hidden, as though her skin was not as ivory entirely soaked in blood.

”Oh, and I like how you blush, too,” Roxy teased.

”All rosy-cheeked like one of Artemis’ nymphs, ha, ” Jetty added, ”But she’s such a prude, huh? Wouldn’t like us having all this fun.”

”Who needs goddesses, anyway?” Roxy looked at Scylla, her gaze overwhelmingly loving for seemingly no reason in particular. Scylla couldn’t understand. She just couldn’t. But at least, she knew they loved her. At least she understood that. ”There are much better things to be than nymphs.”

”Alright, alright!” Scylla cried, at last. ”I get it, gals. I’m real pretty. I-I believe you.”

She didn’t. Not quite. 

”And you better remember it, baby,” Jetty threatened playfully, poking a finger at the maddening star on her chest.

”Might need’ta remind me sometime…”

”Gladly, baby.”

”Anytime, darling.”

But she believed she could learn. And that, maybe, even monsters—no, not monsters. Not really. Maybe even people like her, forced into darkness, could love themselves, if given enough time.

Scylla looked back at the mirror. She saw her gals: beautiful, slim, elegant. She saw them gathered around her like the rays that shrouded Helios in blinding light. And there, right in the middle, she saw a star. Dim, hesitant, but burning nonetheless.

For once, Scylla did not hate what she saw.