She sat on the rocks, watching the churning black sea through the midnight fog. She scowled hatefully, but then again, her face was always full of hate. The hatred in her face was pure love compared to her blackened, crusted heart. It was a corrupted black hole, feeding on misery and woe, grief and pain, fear and anger. The negativities kept it always hungry, always feeding.
A small ship slid tentatively out of the fog, towards her desolate island. The sailors on board were uneasy, wary of the treacherous rocky cove, telling whispered stories of a malevolent force that lurked there in wait, hungry for unwary seamen. The captian was a little annoyed, treating their fear as superstitious nonsense. She grinned in anticipation and waited until they were too close to turn around. She then opened her disgusting mouth and shrieked. The sound was piercing, and many sailors hit the deck, blood pouring out of their ears. The uneasy atmosphere turned to that of terror and mayhem, and she took to the murky grey-black sky on her vulture wings.
The captian roared at his sailors to get a grip, but it was no use, they rioted and screamed. She landed on the deckhouse and shrieked again. The last remaining sailors panicked, half-choked by her rancid breath, and when they saw her, abandoned ship. The captian stared at her until the ship crashed into the cruel, sharp rocks. She circled above, feediing on their last moments until they were all done.
The harpy settled onto the rocks, watching the churing black sea through the midnight fog, a satisfied grin on her cracked red lips.
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