The Wheel In The Sky Keeps On Turning

Cold water was the most efficient thief of heat the siren knew. It always takes what it does not need. The river at her paws would be just as icy when she had crossed as before, yet her blood will be almost frozen in her veins. Before even a toe is submerged, her isabelline-white skin turns rough with goosebumps, pointless as they might be. The water surges around her skin, rising up her limbs on one side, making tiny eddies on the other. The weight of the water was almost enough to topple the siren, the current enough to take her far down stream. What worries her more was that at this low temperature her muscles would simply give up. Crossing in such cold water was a compromise: fast enough not become hypothermic and steady enough not to fall, yet she had to do it. The cleansing ritual needs to be done at the beginning of winter, when temperatures are low, in this particular area and case. Where she came from they would usually proceed with the ritual in the Oasis, in the middle of the Desert, and always at night when temperatures go below the freezing point. But this will have to do for now. Water of all life and well-being. melodious tones escaped the vampiric succubus pretty maw, closing her optics as she caster her prayers for her Gods. I am using water to wash myself of the filth, to purify myself and to live; I am here to thank you for such gracious gift. dulcet syllables continued to be poured from her jaws, each one wrapped in a exotic foreign accent; heavy on her tongue as it was for some ears.


Speech