Ariel finds it strange to still be breathing.
The last thing she remembers was the darkness of the ocean that never knew existed as she plunged to the bottomless depths. And yet...here she is. Lying on the sandy beach, soaked to the bone, the beginnings of sunrise kissing her skin.
Sunrise. The fourth sunrise. The fourth day.
She jolts up, limbs frantic to see if she was still intact. She lifts the heavy fold of her skirts to see bare legs—no scales, no fins, no tail.
The Sea Witch hasn't come for her. She hadn't dissolved into sea foam. She's not dead.
She's alive.
She wants to laugh and shout for joy. In fact, she'll do that right—Ariel opens her mouth, no sound emerges. Her voice...her voice hasn't...
Ariel shakes her head, scarlet locks tumbling behind her shoulders. Maybe she's just tired and her voice is sore. Of course. That must be it. It will surely come back later.
Slowly, she lifts herself up—only to fall to the sand with a painful thud. Unbearable pain shoots down her legs, and she bites her lip to keep from whimpering. The hex on her legs were still active. The curse was still intact.
She is not free.
One of the castle's servants finds her and brings her back. The staff make a huge commotion. They cover her small frame with dozens of quilts, bring her a mixture of remedies, and send for the royal physician who assures everyone that the young lady is quite alright.
They sentence her to bed rest, and pamper her from head to toe.
Her maids ask her all sorts of things, like 'how did you fall?' or 'did somebody push you?' and even worse, 'pardon my intrusion my lady, but did you jump off?' They ask her all this without expecting an answer. But even if Ariel could speak, she doubts she would tell them.
You didn't kill him, did you?
Why do you make yourself suffer like this?—Aquata