Beatrice, called Trice, once sang in Port Gulf’s slum taverns until Reverend Jameson Ferguson recognized her talent, mentoring her rise as a performer whose voice offered solace to crowds. As war erupted, fading audiences drove her to despair, prompting recruiter Hank Henriette to enlist her into the Incarnate Soldier Unit. Transformed into a Siren Incarnate, her arms became avian wings, her lower body a muscular fishtail, her towering eight-foot frame wielding hypnotic melodies woven through her voice and wing vibrations. These songs dulled senses and induced slumber, though her fragile physique necessitated protection by allies like Daniel Price during combat.

Post-war, she lingered in her Incarnate state, sheltering beneath Newfort’s docks to evade capture. Returning to Port Gulf, she foresaw renewed conflict and sang the entire town into a enchanted sleep, hoping to spare them suffering. This act attracted the Coup de Grace exterminators. Confronted by agent Schaal, she confessed her despair over her monstrous form alienating those she sought to protect. Despite her pleas framing her actions as mercy, Claude Withers struck her down.

Mortally wounded, she fled to her old bar, where Schaal cradled her. Whispering her true name, Beatrice Serrault, she sang a final lullaby before passing. Her journey reflected a musician’s enduring drive to bring peace through song, even as war twisted her methods into morally gray compulsions. She avoided direct violence, instead imposing escapism to shield others from pain.

Her arc underscored the erosion of humanity in wartime, particularly for noncombatants thrust into brutality. Unlike fellow Incarnates, she refused alliances with factions like Cain Madhouse’s, clinging to pacifism despite her monstrous shell. Her end brought no redemption, only the quiet tragedy of a singer who sought comfort but became a relic of irreversible metamorphosis.