//------------------------------// // Fleeing // Story: The siren call of Sunset // by Hope //------------------------------// “I deserve better than this.” There was no one to hear her honeyed words. Noone to respond to her pleas. The yellow and red pony sitting on the beach reached out, watching the waves lap up the sand to touch her hoof, and… She couldn’t even remember the moment, or experience the pain as she recoiled and came back to consciousness with stars in her eyes and a headache. Her home, the sea, now forbidden to her. She grit her teeth and rolled onto her stomach, facing away from the waves. Damn them. Damn them all. But she couldn’t abandon it. So she calmed herself and turned to face the sea again, before beginning to sing. A wordless tune, sung with all her heart and energy, roaring out into the sea strung wind with wild abandon, before slowly trailing off into nothing. Shaking with emotional release and anger, she turned and trotted away from the beach, up into the streets of Maritime Bay. A flourishing young coastal town, Maritime Bay got by on shipping, fishing, and the sale of salt that dried in the tidal pools of the bay’s northern edge.  “Hey Sunset!” an earth pony called out from the door of one of the shops. “Apple juice just came in if you want some.” Sunset slowed and gave him a sad smile. “I appreciate it, Quick Oat, but I’m running low on bits just now…” “Oh…” his ears drooped a bit, looking deeply sad for her plight. “Well… I suppose… If you want a taste, I don’t mind giving to charity, you know? Just a bottle!” She sauntered over to him and put a hoof on his cheek. “I’m so very grateful,” she said softly, as his eyes became a little vacant to the sound of her voice. “Grateful…” he whispered, drifting off into his shop and bringing a bottle back for her. After that, she trotted away, through the bustling town. As was normal for the last few years, her reception was sharply divided. Most of the stallions and a small number of mares greeted her like their dearest friend, while the rest held her at a slight distance with an air of suspicion and annoyance. After all, when their spouses and significant others were absolutely smitten with Sunset the moment she said hello, it was only reasonable to be a bit unhappy with her. So she didn’t blame them. It was her nature to entrap those that were attracted to her, and it was in their nature to reject her for that. So she collected a few more snacks on her way home, and slipped inside before dropping them all on a countertop. “Welcome home, Sunset!” She almost cringed at the adoration in the voice of her ‘landlord’. “Hey Gilda," Sunset sighed. Gilda, a griffin that in public gave a persona of being absolutely callous and uninterested in anyone, was hopelessly in love with Sunset. She'd instantly offered her a place to stay when Sunset first arrived in town, and seemed willing to give her anything she wanted. It was miserable, like living with a too-large puppy. And the entire time, Gilda insisted she was fully heterosexual. "Hey yourself! I've got asparagus and potatoes for dinner and I was thinking that we could listen to the radio, maybe you'll hear a song you like!" Sunset closed her eyes, leaning against the counter a bit as she buried her annoyance. "I don't want to sing," Sunset lied, her voice low and angry. "Just make dinner and let me know when it's ready." Then she stomped off into her room, ignoring Gilda's hurt look. Her room, at least, she could exist in comfortably. A bed. A dresser. A backpack with all her important worldly belongings in case she had to leave abruptly. Staying in one place for too long never worked out. It had been true beneath the waves and it seemed to be just as true above them. She had thought about becoming a sailor until she'd learned just how brutal her banishment was. So instead she was thinking about leaving Maritime Bay soon, if only to put some distance between herself and the waters she had once roamed freely. So she checked her bag yet again, adding a few coins to the hidden pouch within, making sure everything was ready, that everything was fine. As long as she could leave whenever she wanted, as long as she was free, everything was fine. As she repacked the bag, a large pearl in a soft pouch fell out and rolled a bit away. Her journal. She picked it up and took the pearl out of the pouch, letting the sunlight touch it and show shimmering after-images of letters dancing across the pink surface. Numbly, she shifted to lay with her back against the wall, and tapped the pearl. Pages of words shimmered into existence, in Sunset’s writing. “Princess Celestia is an imbecile of the highest order. Not only has she ignored every suggestion I’ve made to improve her pathetic city, but she has shown repeatedly that she will never see me as anything but a Siren. Fine. If that’s how she wants to see me, then that’s what I will be.” Sunset looked away from her own words, and swiped a hoof, scrolling back and back through so many pages to find the first. The writing was much neater, softer at the edges, when she’d first learned to write. After all, what use did Sirens have for written language? Song was all that mattered. “These mer-ponies are remarkable.” So naive, so easily drawn in by supposed unity. “They’ve turned pearls, an accidental byproduct of clams treasured by surface dwellers only because they cannot dive deep enough to find them easily, into magical conduits. In all my experience, I have only seen gemstones and glass used like this, but now this pearl can record my words in physical form. I wonder how many other creatures could have passed on their wisdom using this. My sisters, my ancestors, could have passed along their songs, their experiences, their thoughts. I miss them. That is strange for me to write, isn’t it? That I miss the cruel and heartless–” Sunset dismissed the page, and stuffed the pearl back into its pouch. She understood her sisters more than ever before, now. She understood how cruel they could be, because the world would not listen to a Siren, no matter how much it begged for her voice. So a choice had to be made. Either to give and give and give until there was nothing left, or to finally treat the rest of the world as it treated her.