Northstar Vale a manager at a comic book store

might be last post, but kalika is free to stop her

a maritime woman—tanned legs and hair all asunder, loosened by the feral wind out on deck. her hands slide off the siren's shoulders at her protests. the sheer proximity of her has astynome reeling, like she's cut a string that had anchored some part of her.
the feeling of breathing in air that someone has breathed out. she can't hear her own thoughts over the roar of blood that's filled her head and gushed around her ears. she'd never been more aware that the heart was nothing more than a strong muscle with a mind of its own.
"an island. war-torn." she murmurs. "we were not soldiers. we took care of the prisoners-of-war."
jump to home, an island shot through with a bay in the shape of a large bite mark. the mountain caves full of people who had nowhere else to go. bunkers that were a hundred feet off the ground.

she makes as if to leave, turning away. the way she walks, its obvious she is still dizzy. "perhaps--perhaps next time, it will be you stumbling upon me. siren."