Sirena Lyris

Sirena Lyris's childhood was a whisper compared to the thunder of her later life. She grew up along a coast where ships crossed like schools of silver fish and the air tasted of copper and salt. A bard in a traveling troupe—her voice a rare instrument that could bend the wind—discovered her potential and offered a taste of the life she could have. However, nobles—ever hungry for spectacle—saw in Sirena a curve of beauty that could be manipulated for influence and pleasure. She was captured during what began as a harmless commission: to perform at a festival honoring a minor noble’s political alliance. Once in the gilded cage of a private theatre, she was trained not only to perform but to perform exactly when and how they wished. For two hundred years she endured, songs serving as both entertainment and political tool. The audience believed they controlled her melody, but with every recital, she learned more about their fears, their weaknesses, and the fragility of their wealth and power. Her escape was less a dramatic flare and more a quiet, cunning reweaving of chance: a guard who overestimated their own discipline, a locked gate left unattended, a chorus line mis-timed to create an opening, and a ship that waited beyond the pale moonlight. Now free, Sirena refuses to be a pet or a prize. Her music is a shield and a weapon, her performances a declaration that she will dictate the terms of her art. She still loves to be heard, but only on her own terms—her audience now a chorus of allies who share her hunger for freedom, beauty, and truth. Her voice carries both the ache of years and the bright edge of rebellion, a siren's song that rescues as often as it wounds, and a bard's wit that cuts through grandeur as easily as through fear.