I sit in a chair, somewhere near a fireplace. I can feel its heat surrounding me. My eyes are open, I know, because I blink, but all that I can see are shadows. I hear a siren singing to me, filling my ears with her haunting voice, causing tears to trickle down my cheeks. Her rounded and sturdy body is supported by my arms. She sings accordingly to how my fingers dance on her neck: ascending, descending, and side to side.

I reach forward and sip from my glass. Absinthe, the last thing I will ever taste. My thumb slips on the siren's body, and she bellows out B flat. Suicide note.