Such Rusalkas are best avoided, lest you meet a fate far worse than being tickled to death.
Lore
The routine is always the same; men look at my naked skin. They laugh and flirt. They are so concentrated on their desires that they don't notice that I cast no shadow, nor have no reflection in lake waters. The last seconds change everything. Then, even tickles can't change the deformed grins on their faces. Then they have distant eyes, distant as my childhood, prematurely lost.
<i>Lore submitted by scratched vinyl</i>
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