She doesn’t ask for your name. She doesn’t offer you a choice. She surfaces beside your boat, slams her webbed palms against the gunwale, and tips her head sideways — too far — like a gull eyeing a rotten fish.
Here’s a short creative piece developing that concept: The Bully of the Breton Tides syren de mer bully
They call her — half-taunt, half-warning, carved into the wet wood of pier posts from Saint-Malo to Brest. She doesn’t ask for your name