The Tower of Wayrath: The watering hole

"No, that is not our name," the water said. "Are you nice? Mm?"

Soft and dulcet, like the tones from a flute made of glass, the voice rippled across the water with the breeze. Far away, without the distortion of distance, the voice faded, rather than ceased, after the simplistic query. Then, a goodly distance out, small blue fingers raised up out of the water and seemed to rest on the surface for a moment, before, inches further, the sleek form of a head rose up and peeked two dark eyes over the knuckles. Whatever color the hair was supposed to be, it tended to reflect the sky and the forest canopy, so took on a sheen of light blues and greens. The face was only slightly less reflective, allowing the expressions that crossed the supple shapes to be easily read.

She lifted higher out of the water, pushing herself up by her grip on the water's surface, until she leaned over her own arms to peer across the dawn-lit lake towards the woman on the shore. Breasts pressed together by the posture, almost demurely covered by her own arms, it was now visible that her hair was long rivulets of glass that draped wetly over her back and shoulders.

"We haven't seen you before. Would you like to hear a song we made for you?"