Chapter 21
La Sirena di Vetro
« The Glass Siren »

Part 1 – The Mirror’s Whisper

After last night’s speakeasy rendezvous, she was convinced her song was hot. She had made Frankie stare into her eyes—even if only for a moment. He almost looked at her with loving eyes, or at least that’s the lie she kept telling herself over and over.

“If I can make him look at me more, I sure as hell will make him forget that floozy!” Ophelia said to herself, leaning closer to the cracked vanity by the moonlight spilling into her boudoir, rouge trembling in her hand.

“She ain’t the only gal with red lips and curves that can sing a man into oblivion. I sure can do that too—” she whispered into the glass, as if waiting for reassurance that she wasn’t descending into madness.

But the mirror didn’t flatter. It jeered. Every stroke of rouge was an apology. Every roller she set in her hair to mimic Mylène’s curls—a cruel joke. Every feather—a theft. Every spritz of perfume—a prayer to a god that never paid her mind.

Sequins rattled like twisted songs, played by ivories that mocked her. Maybe she had drunk too much giggle water, and this soliloquy was God’s way of mocking her.

The more she stared into the mirror, the less she recognized herself. Smudged lipstick across a forced smile. Deep inside, she hated Mylène as much as she hated cosplaying to get male attention. It killed her—like invisible bracelets sentencing her to prison.

She was a jailhouse bird, and her only way out was to turn herself into her. She dressed not to be herself, but to be the echo of another woman’s ghost and seductive allure.

She had even stolen the perfume Sirah had made for himself to smell like her. Orange. Cloves. Cinnamon.

Part 2 – La Sirena del Vetro Finto

On her way to Le Cœur Noir, she caught a glimpse of herself in the stained glass. Ophelia was sure she looked just like her—and no man, especially Frankie or her husband, would ever reject her again.

No sir. She was a canary ready to sing from the closest branch, her voice sliding with the ivories into seduction and bliss.

Le Cœur Noir was all cigarette smoke and babes with too much rouge. The canaries sang sharp love tunes to entertain Carollo’s made men, always drunk but always watchful. Alligators danced harder than ever, as if they were back in Congo Square.

Ophelia swayed sexily onto the stage. Her gown clung to her body like a secret begging to be hidden. Eyes turned. A few whistles—parrots in heat—then abrupt silence.

Half claps. Laughter. Whispers in the corners. But she didn’t care—she was in her own trance. She didn’t hear mockery. She heard idolatry.

“Adoration is only a matter of rehearsal and perfection,” she told herself.

She hummed a tone to the piano man. “Let those ivories tell my story—”

Mamma’s got to lay some iron for these Louisiana alligators—
Sugar babe ain’t no chippie,
She ain’t no bluenose either—
But daddy didn’t raise me to be on the docks,
Beggin’ for lovin’.
Bring me giggle water, gin, and smoke—
And crown me queen of this joint—

The crowd smirked. But Ophelia was lost in her own thoughts, imagining whistles and flowers raining on the stage.

Part 3 – Frankie’s Shadow

From the stage, she noticed Frankie heading upstairs. She slipped after him through dice dens, smoke-filled parlors packed with babes in feathers and silk gowns. Goomars and molls brushed past her like dancing shadows.

“Frankie—wait for me!” she called, but he ignored her, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he picked up the pace.

She rushed, calling louder. “Frankie, please wait!” Finally, she caught up.

When his eyes met hers—half drunk, half hallucinating, heavy with Carollo’s demands—something flickered. Recognition. And for a brief moment, he thought of Mylène. Her name slipped from his lips.

“Cara mia, non vedevo l’ora di vederti. I miss your big black eyes—”

But then he noticed Ophelia’s green eyes, and snapped out of it.

“Forgive me, Ophelia. What can I do for you? Sirah’s in his shop, so there’s no reason for you to be here.”

This infuriated her. But that one second—that was gold.

If he looked once, I’ll make him look again—even if he calls me her name. An illusion is better than nothing, she told herself.

Part 4 – Envy Has a Mouth and It’s Hungry

Back at the Maison de Mémoires, in her boudoir alone—while Sirah chose to sleep in the antique shop instead of their flat—Ophelia’s fury grew.

“He chooses to sleep uncomfortable every night instead of with me! That witch has them both under her spell. And I will break it—even if it costs me my life. There is no one more beautiful than I am. I am a vision!”

The mirror spat the truth. Mascara smeared into two black holes. Lipstick bloodied her chin. Her perfume—burning like a cigarette on her skin.

“What is it about that pale broad that drives men crazy?! …But tonight he called me her name… so that means I’m winning.”

She swiped crimson across her lips again. “Just watch me—”

Part 5 – Carollo’s Tempting Offer

As Ophelia stormed back toward Le Cœur Noir, Carollo found her prowling the Quarter, drenched in fury and vengeance.

“Cara mia, the world doesn’t need truth,” he said, flicking his silver lighter. “It needs spectacle.”

“Sometimes, you gotta make your own bones, doll—”

Ophelia accepted the cigarette with a smile. Dangerous hope clung to her like rouge. Carollo smirked. Nothing is deadlier than a woman with crushed ego and something to prove.

Part 6 – The Canary Goomar

The woman in the mirror was no longer Ophelia. She was a siren born of delusion. A canary moll ready to sing the city into collapse.

She had become what she envied—a warped reflection. La Sirena di Vetro was born.

The downfall of the East Coast and West Coast mafiosi was now inevitable.

🕯️ Felt the pull? Let her haunt someone new.

If this chapter moved you, pass it on.
One soul. One shadow. One whisper.
Mylène remembers the ones who speak her name.

📜 Take the Legend Further

📋 Copy Chapter Link 📩 Send to a Friend 🧝‍♀️ Join the Legend

#VelvetMirror #NirvanaNoir #MyleneLives