One night, bathed in the pale, cold glow of moonlight, her feet dragged Lyra towards the sleeping village. It hummed with the soft, slow breaths of people lost in dreams. Lyra felt it a faint thrum, a pull, like a hidden spring deep within the earth, whispering promises of life.
The path ahead was swallowed by a darkness so deep it felt alive, a thick, inky black that ate every hint of light. It was wrong, twisted, a stark opposite to everything Lyra had ever known. But when you're sinking, you grasp at anything that floats. And Lyra was drowning, the terror of losing herself a roaring tide that drowned out the quiet whisper of right and wrong.
"No," she breathed, her hands trembling like leaves caught in a sudden storm. The word tasted bitter on her tongue. "I can't. I just can't."
But then, the blurry face in her mind's eye flashed the smooth skin where scales used to be. Live. Just live. The words screamed in her head, a desperate, raw plea that tore through her fear.
She reached out, her senses locking onto a small house, the faint shapes of people asleep inside. A thin shadow, like smoke coiling from an extinguished flame, curled from her fingers. It wavered, unsure, a hungry tendril in the night air. She could feel their warmth, their vibrant life a bright, inviting spark. Could she truly step over that edge?
Just as the shadow brushed against the house wall, a voice sliced through the quiet night, sharp as ice, cold as a winter wind. "Well, well, what little creature have we here?" The words hung in the air, but Lyra ignored them, her focus narrowed.
Cautiously, like a child touching a hot stove, Lyra tried. Just a tiny sip of energy from the sleeping humans. And oh, it worked. Her powers stirred, alive and tingling, a faint electric current flowing through her veins. Her magic sparked back to life, a small flicker of her former self. Even her beauty felt brighter, like moonlight on calm water. The human world, once a place of terrifying loss, was now... sustenance. A dark, sweet promise.
But that tiny sip wasn't enough for long. She grew hungrier, needing more, more often. Those small tastes no longer quieted the gnawing ache in her gut. She started to hide, pulling away from others, her movements becoming sly and shadowed. When she spoke to humans, there was a new, sharp edge in her voice, a hungry glint in her eyes they couldn't quite place. At first, they were simply curious about her strange ways. Then, whispers began. Suspicion. And then, a chilling, growing fear.
Lyra, once a champion of good and kindness, was twisting into something dark. Something that preyed on the very people she lived among. She had found a way to survive, yes, but now she was the danger, a silent threat the humans would eventually face. Her own survival had become a tangled knot, pitting her against the world that had offered her shelter.
The gentle lapping of waves on the shore, once a soothing lullaby, now sounded like a hungry tongue licking its lips. Water, the very essence of her own kind, had become her hunting ground. The insatiable need to feed, to reclaim her magic, had warped her perception of everything. Humans weren't just people anymore; they were batteries, their life force a drink she craved. It happened slowly, like a shadow stretching longer with the setting sun. But now, Lyra, the lost queen, was a hunter. A cold, efficient predator.
Her first victim was a fisherman. He was casting his net before the sun even dared to peek over the horizon, the pre-dawn air biting and damp. The fog hung thick and low, a swirling, milky curtain that swallowed sound, cloaking Lyra as she slipped into the dark water. He heard only a faint splash, like a fish breaking the surface, and paid it no mind. "Must be a big one," he mumbled to himself, a hopeful smile playing on his lips as he adjusted his grip on the net.
Then, a hand, shockingly white and surprisingly strong, clamped onto his ankle. Hard. A jolt of ice shot up his leg, chilling him to the bone.
"What the—?!" he yelled, but the thick fog and the rolling waves swallowed his cry, turning it into a choked gasp. Lyra pulled him down, the sudden, bone-aching cold of the water shocking him.
"No! Let go! What are you?!" he thrashed, kicking and pulling against her relentless grip, his movements frantic and desperate. His lungs burned, screaming for air. Panic clawed at his throat, a sharp, ragged fear. He saw her face, blurry in the murky water, and something in her eyes a cold, empty hunger made his blood run colder than the sea itself. "Please! Don't do this!" he begged, bubbles escaping his lips in futile bursts.
She didn't need him to drown, only his energy. As she held him close, his struggles weakened, his body growing limp. His eyes, wide with terror, became vacant, lifeless. The vibrant spark of life drained out of him, leaving him still and empty. Lyra floated up for a moment, the stolen power making her feel potent and whole again, a rush of warmth spreading through her veins, then slipped back beneath the surface, leaving his net to drift alone in the swirling mist, a silent monument to a life abruptly ended.
Lyra's next targets were a couple, laughing like children splashing in puddles by the sea. Their joyful sounds grated on Lyra, a sharp, grating reminder of the life she was stealing. She swam closer, quiet as a shadow, her voice sweet and friendly, a deceptive lure. "Want to see who can hold their breath the longest?" she asked, her smile wide and inviting.
The woman giggled, splashing water. "Oh, a game! You're on!" The man, splashing playfully, added, "Just try to beat us!"
It wasn't a game for long. Lyra's smile never faltered as she pulled the woman down first. The happy squeal turned into a choked bubble. "He help!" the woman gurgled, hands clawing at Lyra's arms, her eyes wide with terror as her life force drained away. Her limbs went slack. Then the man, bewildered, felt Lyra's grip, shockingly cold and powerful. "What are you doing?!" he yelled, his voice thick with confusion and sudden fear, before his own joyful laugh twisted into a gasp. "No! Let go! Sarah!" His voice was swallowed by the waves as Lyra took what she needed, leaving him empty and still. Later, their small bodies washed ashore, side by side. "Terrible accident," the villagers whispered, shaking their heads, never guessing the silent monster hiding in the water, close by.
Then there was the woman, humming a quiet tune to herself in a small, hidden bay, washing her hair, her head tilted back in simple contentment. Lyra watched from below, silent as a stone. She rose behind her, a hand clamping over the woman's mouth before a single sound, a single gasp of alarm, could escape. The woman's eyes went wide, reflecting Lyra's face, a mirror of pure, sudden terror. She thrashed, her body rigid with fear, trying to scream, but only a muffled grunt escaped. Lyra was too strong now, her grip unbreakable. The familiar draining feeling, the rush of stolen life, filled Lyra. Then, silence as the woman, limp and lifeless, sank into the dark water, her humming forgotten.
Her next kill was bolder, almost a cruel game. A lifeguard, watching the beach on a still afternoon, saw someone "struggling" in the waves. He dove in, ready to save them, his movements strong and practiced. "Hey! I'm coming!" he shouted, his voice strong and clear, cutting through the quiet air. But it was a trick. The one pretending to drown was Lyra, a cold, hungry glint in her eyes. As he neared, she grabbed him, her touch burning with the raw power she'd taken from others. His eyes widened in shock, then fear, a dawning horror. "What the?! Get off me!" he yelled, struggling against her unnatural strength, the impossible grip. "You're not drowning! You're crazy!" She dragged him under, his protests turning into frantic, watery gurgles. The dark humor of a lifeguard becoming her food was twisted and ugly. Like the others, his body was found later, another sad, unsolved puzzle in the growing tide of mystery.
Anywhere water touched, Lyra hunted. Gentle waves, shallow tide pools, hidden bays all became death traps, silent grave sites. The coastline, once a place of joy and life for the villagers, now felt spooky, haunted. A silent fear grew, a dread of the unseen thing below the surface. A thing that used to be a queen, now just a killer.
A new monster was here, indeed. And it was smart. Its hunts were quiet, like a fish snatching a fly, leaving no trace. Lyra, the queen who lost her throne, was now a hunter wearing a mask of worry. Her kills were quick, clean, and made no sense to anyone else.
The villagers whispered about bad luck, angry ghosts, something from the deep sea wanting their lives. Fear squeezed the joy out of their little town, turning their peaceful days into scary nights, filled with the chilling question of "who's next?"