Lumière is at the bridge near the Castle the first time he sees her. He hears laughter, a laughter so bright and charming it hits him like the most beautiful of songs, and thus he follows it. Lumière follows it until the very end of the bridge where he sees her. In a rock, surrounded by angry waves that hit it like they want to take it down just to get to her—to touch her—and playing with the feathers of the birds that pull at her lovely hair and gills.
A woman.
No, not a woman. The woman. The most beautiful woman Lumière has ever seen in his life, the most beautiful there is.
But she's not a woman at all.
With her darkened skin, lovely white hair all put up in curls like the wigs of court while some go down her bare shoulders and back, pearls necklaces so thick they drop by her thin neck and hide away her chest. Even in the dark and far away Lumière can see the hints of gold on parts of her skin that glow at the moonlight.
He can also see the giant tail she has in place of human legs, so big that he can't see the end where they go inside the water; reminding him more of a eel's tail than a fish, but the meaning of it isn't forgotten to him.
Mermaid.
A children's tale, and a sailor's' cautionary tale as well but if Lumière's mind isn't playing him—and he wasn't ashamed of admitting it could be a dream, her beauty too ethereal to be taken for granted—it isn't a tale at all.
She looks up from where she's playing and seems shocked when their eyes meet; her laughter turning into a gasp and Lumière regrets making it stop, regrets not being more careful. She lets out a "oh" and jumps at the water, hiding from his view and going away from the man staring at her, but it's too late.
Lumière had seen her, and she knew.
Did she also know how her beauty had affected him?
Oh, but how he wished he knew her name. The name of the beautiful woman whose body and hair was ornamented by stunning pearls and feathers, the woman who stole his heart.
The woman that belonged to the sea.
He went back to the bridge every night after that. Every night he looked around the horizon at the sea hoping to catch even a glimpse of her. But he never did.
Lumière also never shook off the feeling of being watched when he did.