Don't come close, and good stars above, don't hum. Property of postapocalypticintimacy.

Shyren retains little of her former shy and meek self. She has become a conscienceless predator, drawing prey into her pool with her singing and posturing while she lounges on a fallen stalactite in the middle. Once a monster steps into the water of her pool, however, they find themselves entangled in a net woven with rusty fishhooks, barbed wire, and snare traps; the more they struggle, the more they trap themselves, until the net drags them below the surface, Shyren’s preferred feeding ground.

She consumes them slowly there, singing them into their darkest slumber.