Under The Full Moon
written by: Sera V Worrall
Amira’s husband was going to be mad. She was late. Super late. Omar demanded his evening meal at seven sharp. But the traffic on her way home from the party at her sister’s home was snarled up, and it was already dark with the full moon shining brightly overhead.
Reaching the apartment complex at a run, Amira slowed to catch her breath. The road outside her husband’s home was still busy and lined with parked cars. She’d had to park a long way down as her usual spot was taken by a car she hadn’t seen before.
Amira took the stairs two at a time as the lift was still out of order. Her legs burned and shook when she finally reached the front door. Unlocking it, she walked into a wall of fug; her husband had clearly smoked his hashish again. And there was a sweet, cloying smell like cheap perfume underlying the rich myrcene scent. Trying not to breathe it in – hashish was something she tolerated, though normally Omar would have to use the pipe elsewhere – Amira kicked off her shoes, dropped her handbag, and stumbled barefoot towards the bedroom to change into house clothes before fixing Omar’s evening meal.
“Ibn el kalb!”
Amira swore viciously as she stood frozen in the bedroom doorway, her eyes glued to her husband’s wobbly backside as he carried on fucking the woman in her bed. Tracking her gaze over Omar’s olive-skinned body to the plump, golden-skinned woman trying to cover herself with the blanket, Amira sneered, her eyes meeting those dark ones of that unknown woman.
“Sharmuta!”
Tearing her gaze away, Amira bolted out of the room and down the stairs, skidding around the corner in her haste to get away. Reaching the front door of the apartment, she flung it open so forcefully it smashed into the wall. The call of her name and Omar’s footsteps spurred her on as she hurtled through the hallways.
Her heart pounded out a staccato that matched her steps. A flood of emotions washed through her: shame, fear, anger, disgust. He’d want to leave. Divorce her and marry that woman. At only seventeen, she would be destitute and would bring shame to her parents and sister. She had never finished school, her parents saying it was more important to be settled with a husband than to learn.
Her marriage to Omar had not been for love. She had been promised, by her father, to Omar’s father for Omar from the day she had been born. Omar was only three years older than she was. And his family had more money and social standing than hers.
The night before the wedding, she had ended her love affair with Yasmin. They knew they would never be able to be together fully, not like a man and woman could be. Yet they hadn’t been able to resist what their hearts wanted. Ever since they’d met at school in Grade 5, they’d been inseparable and, as they’d grown, so too had their love. But Yasmin would no longer speak to her since she’d married Omar. Her heart still ached for the woman she’d lost and for the loveless existence she was condemned to.
Fleeing into the road in front of the apartment complex, Amira was heedless of the blazing headlights, screaming brakes, and blaring horns of nighttime drivers trying to avoid hitting her. As her feet slapped against the asphalt, her heart pulsed, its jackhammering rhythm making her lungs burn. In her head was a maelstrom of thoughts, the vortex of them turning her fear and anger into anxiety.
She couldn’t get divorced. She just couldn’t.
Reaching the far side of the road in one piece, Amira hopped over the low wall that separated the city from the Nile riverside. All at once she was enveloped in another world. The darkness was absolute, the date palms towering overhead blocking the moonlight. From somewhere nearby, she could hear the call of a Pharaoh eagle-owl, the flapping of wings as bats left their roost, and the bark of a fox. In front of her, the Nile River lapped gently, its sound soothing.
Having caught her breath, she meandered towards the water. Tears fell steadily – for her lost love Yasmin and for the destitution awaiting her tomorrow – as she walked, the grass and dirt cool under her feet, the air heady and sweet from the scent of night-blooming jasmine, eucalyptus and mulberry trees. Parting the foliage with her hands, Amira found herself bathed in a pool of amber moonlight. It gave an otherworldly air to the riverbank.
During the daytime, she would often visit this little hidden oasis. Most people never ventured there, but she often sought an escape from Omar. He was always barking orders, expecting everything to be spotless. She was not allowed to work. Her friends did, their husbands were modern. But Omar said it was his job to be the breadwinner and hers to keep house. She hated cleaning.
This was the first time she’d been at the riverbank at night. Stepping out of the shadows fully, Amira padded to where the gentle waves lapped against the shore. As always, the sound of the water soothed her. Crossing her arms across her middle, Amira glanced around, drinking in the stillness.
Then she saw her.
A tall, svelte woman with a cascade of black curls tumbling down her back and skin so smooth it looked like silk. Dressed in a diaphanous white dress, the woman stood in a pool of moonlight at the water’s edge. Until Amira trod on a stick, the crack of it louder than a gunshot. The woman whirled, her gaze catching Amira’s.
Stumbling backwards, Amira repressed a shiver of disbelief. It was only a story, something to frighten people so they’d respect the waters more, she thought. El Naddaha. Egypt’s siren. Said to lure men with a call of their name. Her victims were either drowned or devoured.
“Amira…”
That voice; it was ethereal. Sultry. Smoky almost. Her name sounded rich and velvety as the siren called it. Amira was transfixed, her attention solely on the woman as she glided closer. Her heart thrummed; a heady mix of fear and limerence.
“Amira…”
El Naddaha was close enough now that Amira could see the verdant green of her eyes. They were brighter even than the river in brilliant sunshine. They were deep and enchanting, arresting with their beauty. Amira felt her heart flutter in ways it hadn’t since she and Yasmin broke up and could only stammer a greeting.
“H-hello…”
A soft laugh, reminiscent of a wind chime tinkling in a summer breeze, surrounded Amira. It was playful, amused. Even so, it made Amira’s cheeks redden in embarrassment. She was normally so eloquent.
“Hello, princess. What troubles ail your heart?”
Momentarily, Amira swooned at the name. Her name did mean princess. Yet, neither her husband nor her parents had ever treated her like one. If her mother had birthed a boy, they would have treated him a lot differently. Taking an uncertain breath – she couldn’t afford to forget what this woman was – Amira started to share her plight as her tears began to fall again.
“And this man, are you in love with him?”
Amira shook her head and looked away. Only to feel gentle fingers tilting her head upwards. Meeting the siren’s gaze, Amira blinked as the woman ran a gentle finger beneath each eye, collecting the moisture. Turning into the touch, Amira found her face being cupped by one soft hand. She’d been right earlier, she mused, the woman’s skin was as soft as spun silk. And, being close, she could smell the siren’s scent; it spoke of the river; freshwater mixed with sweet white lotus and something akin to wet river rocks.
“He is not worthy of your tears, Amira. You deserve more. Much more. If you were my woman, you would never have cause to weep.”
Startled at the conversation, Amira stepped back in surprise.
“Your woman? But the stories, they al—”
“Say I’m a monster that devours men?”
The siren interrupted with her knowing question, an almost predatory gleam in those green eyes.
“Is it such a crime if the ‘victim’ had raped women? Or if the ‘victim’ had committed murder?”
Amira shook her head, but was still puzzled. The stories were clear. The siren frowned at the way Amira still looked confused.
“The infamous myth. Devourer of men. It makes me sound like such a monster. But it is the men who are. They treat their wives like slaves and dispose of them when they find someone new. And they expect to get away with those things. They are the ones who tell those stories and twist the truth, omitting their own wrongdoings.”
The bitter passion in the woman’s voice when speaking, and the meaning, tugged at Amira’s heart. It was true, women really were treated as inferior beings. Some men treated their dogs better than their women.
“Be mine, Amira. I’ll love you as you should be, and you would never want for anything. You would be my equal”
Amira was startled from her thoughts at the hands gripping hers, the fervour and promise of those words only making her thoughts scatter. Leave her husband? The only way she knew was divorce. But that would make her destitute. Shaking her head in bewilderment, Amira voiced the thought that had been nagging her.
“You know me and listened to my pain tonight… But I don’t even know your name. I know your myth, I know you are an incredibly attractive wo-”
Amira’s words were silenced by an unexpected kiss. The siren’s hands cupped her face, thumbs stroking the skin on her jaw, as those full lips pressed against hers. They were warm and soft and tasted of the freshwater from the river.
Opening her mouth in a tiny gasp, Amira found her mouth filled with her siren’s tongue. Unable to resist the woman, Amira put her hands on the slim waist and pulled her closer, their bodies slotting effortlessly together. It was the most consuming, passionate kiss Amira had ever had, and she never wanted it to end. Consequence be damned. She knew full well people were jailed for kissing a person of their same gender, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered to her anymore except kissing the woman in her arms.
The siren broke the kiss first. She was grinning, her lips swollen, and Amira realised she had never seen anyone more beautiful in her life. Dragging in breath after breath, Amira returned the grin.
“Layla. My name, it is Layla. It means intoxicating. But you, Amira, are the intoxicating one!”
An amused laugh erupted from Amira then. Not even Yasmin had said that to her. Though she did like hearing it. Raising her eyes toward her husband’s apartment, though she couldn’t see the building where she was, Amira made her decision. Staying only to be destitute would lead to a loveless death. But, Layla… Love wasn’t something to resist. Especially when it felt so good.
Turning, she held out a hand to Layla. She wasn’t certain what awaited her: death or being turned into a siren. Whatever it was, it was better than what Omar had cooked up for her.
“Make me yours, Layla.”
- Under The Full Moon - October 3, 2026
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