Mermaid

Men call me the tempest; a sailor’s nightmare as is his wildest dream. But men are wrong on that, I am not just a tempest. Not just death sitting pretty on a rock luring sailors to their doom down below, no. I am the waves and the rocks and the salt and the souls of the people that have died in me. The shipwrecks and the skeletons, the tears and blood and the fishes that are born in it. I am not a part of the sea as wise men say. A child of the ocean, a daughter of seas. A tempest of men, the singer of death. Such petty little titles when I have but one relevant crown.
I am the ocean.