Ursula can't sleep.

Flotsam and Jetsam aren't there, and she's alone, and she's cold, and she's shivering.

She's thinking of Ariel. Of Athena, of Triton, of Nico. Of the blood on her hands that will never be fully washed away. Of the way her heart still beats, sometimes, in the lonely hours of the day – how it beats after something she will never again have.

Another shiver tears through her. She closes her eyes and presses the heels of her hands against them, grimacing into the darkness. It has been years – she's supposed to be strong, she's supposed to be the Sea Witch, she isn't supposed to crack apart and be weak and be weak and be weak –

She cries for some time. She doesn't try to control it, knows it will stop by itself.

A shiver, a muffled sob, and she inhales sharply, deeply, holding her breath until her chest stops heaving.

A whispered incantation, the smallest tug on her magic, and she lets herself fade into sleep.

When she wakes, Flotsam and Jetsam are curled up on her chest.

She has a few libraries. There are of course the public ones, in her greeting and working room, but her caves consist of more than that. Beyond the first chambers are long and hidden hallways and corridors, leading to her bedroom, to her stores, to her altar, to the lounge –

and to her past.

There are books in every single room. General in her sleeping chambers, lists upon lists of correspondences and dangers and what's and how's and why's in her stores, worshipping by the altar, stories in the longue – and in the final, most hidden room of them all, is a collection of her very first notebooks.

This is where she finds herself the next day, fingers dancing and trailing over leather-bound books that haven't been used in years. There are no symbols on them. No timestamps or markings to show when they were written. And now, several years later, she finds that she cannot remember why that is.

She pulls out one at random. It's a mess – no system, no numbers, no index, nothing to make sure she could later make sense of what was going on. The pages are littered in scribbles and doodles and sketches, lists of herbs intermingling with incantations and retellings of her day. There is a flower, and here is a shell, and there is a warning reminder for what happens when one mixes two types of coral.

She scoffs, somewhat fondly, at her younger self. Careless mixing of corals is a beginner's mistake. By now the warning riddle she'd made rings easily in mind whenever she needs it.

Flipping to the first page the scoff becomes a small smile. The timestamp in the top left corner dates her to be no older than nineteen. The beginning of her career – she probably hadn't been in her teacher's care for more than a few months. Beneath the time stamp…

the smile turns pained.

Her name shines out at her, written with a certainty she only finds in spells nowadays. Beneath it, in the same sure letters – Apprentice Sea Witch.

Ursula closes the book quietly.

There had been a time she'd been proud of her title. There had been a time it was worth it.

There had been a time she was loved.

She stuffs the book back into the shelf and drifts further, pulling out another one. It's a fair bit older, it seems – thicker, more used but better taken care of.

The timestamp says she's twenty-two.

The book has an index, but poorly executed, and there aren't numbers on every page – but at least there's only one topic on each page, this time. She chuckles. Sometimes she still struggles to do that in her personal notebooks, so she supposes she can't fault her younger self.

As she's about to close the book a lone paper slips out between the pages. Slowly it drifts to the floor.

Ursula blinks. She puts down the book, then bends, picking up the paper –

Her heart stills. Her ribs tighten around her lungs she takes a step backward, dropping the page as though bitten.

She had been a formidable artist – still is, though she never draws anything but herbs.

Athena beams up at her from the floor, forever captured in a sketch, hair and lips red, eyes a piercing green that some part of her still complains isn't quite right.

"Ursula?"

She jumps, spins around, and comes face to face with a worried Flotsam.

Of course. Of course. They are tied to her by magic, can sense whenever she has problems –

"Flotsam," she says, and her voice does not shake, it does not.

Flotsam's gaze drifts, lands on the drawing on the floor, and the painful jerk of their head speaks volumes. They say nothing, only swims over, curling and twisting around her torso – once, twice, then settling around her shoulders.

They say nothing. There is nothing that can be said.

Ursula stares at empty space before her. Then, with one trembling hand, she reaches up to brush her fingers over Flotsam's scales. She closes her eyes. Breathes. Breathes.

"Shall I tell Ariel to wait?" Flotsam asks, their voice low, and close, and warm.

"Ariel?" Ursula repeats, snatching her hand back and trying to look at their face. "Is she here? Again?"

"Aye." Worried. Uncertain.

She makes for the door, leaving the drawing and her beating heart behind. "No, no – are you mad? Show her in."

"Are you sure?" Flotsam asks, tightening around her shoulders before sliding away.

Ursula scoffs, rolling her eyes as she goes through the long and crooked hallways. "When have I ever not been sure?"

The heavy silence that follows is more than enough answer, and Ursula shoots Flotsam a dirty look.

Jetsam is waiting with Ariel in the working room, swimming in lazy circles around her. They look pleased with themselves, a rumbling hissing sound echoing through the water. Ariel looks a bit worried, but a lot more exasperated, and most of all resigned to her fate.

"Jetsam," Ursula says, letting a slow smile onto her face. She is pleased with them, and would have showered them in praise if her guest had been any other than Ariel. But it is Ariel, and so there is a hint of exasperation in her voice, and Jetsam slowly untangles from Ariel to bump into Flotsam. The two eels cackle quietly to each other, swimming in a practiced pattern as they disappear out of the room.

Ariel draws a deep breath, pulling a hand through her hair. "Bless you," she says. "He was – "

"They," Ursula interrupts, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "None of them are he's."

Ariel blinks at her, hand frozen in her hair.

Ursula glares back.

And Ariel bursts into a wide beam. "Sorry," she says, but there's joy in her voice. "I didn't know – but now I do, and it won't happen again. Did you know, my sibling Arista, they're the same way?"

Ursula deflates like a pufferfish. "I – no," she says. Thank you for telling me, she thinks, but she doesn't say it, for it's not Athena before her, it's Ariel.

Ariel shakes her head. "I, uh – I was wondering if I could… see him? Again?"

"Certainly," Ursula says. She raises an eyebrow, crosses her arms, and cocks a hip. "But don't you have royal duties to tend to? Doesn't Triton care if you disappear for a few hours each day?"

Ariel blushes. Poking her index fingers together she looks away, biting her lip. "I, uhm… might have… bribed Sebastian a bit…"

Ursula raises an eyebrow as she turns for her cauldron. "And who might that be?" she asks, pulling out the cauldron and snapping out a tentacle for the bottle of dried seaweed.

"Dad set him to spy on me," Ariel says. Ursula can't see her, but she doesn't need vision to hear the flat look on her face. "But it seems that my friendship mattered more to him than his King's orders."

Ursula freezes. Spy? She forces herself to ease up, pulling the cauldron out onto the floor. "Wise of him," she mutters, "to value friendship." She tugs the cork off the bottle with a little more force than necessary. "Not so wise of your father to assign a spy to his daughter."

Invasion of privacy. How old is Ariel again? She looks old enough to look after herself – even if she hasn't reached full maturity, she cannot possibly be more than a year away from it.

"Yes, well," Ariel says, flustered, toying with her own fingers. She isn't looking at her. "He – he does it because he loves me."

Ursula barks a laugh. "Oh, is that what he tells you?" She shakes her head and sprinkles the seaweed in. "He might think so, but it's not familial love that motivates him, I assure you." She has never known Triton personally, but Athena had introduced them once. Well – Ursula had been too hurt to really do much more than force a smile, but she'd analyzed him thoroughly. She wouldn't be surprised if he'd set a spy on Ariel because he didn't want to lose his child.

The incantation leaves her mouth with ease, and slowly colors drift to the surface of the cauldron.

"How does that work?" Ariel asks, peering curiously at the colors. "I mean… it's just seaweed…?"

Ursula blinks. "Well," she says, slowly, weighing her words. She isn't really supposed to tell someone who isn't an apprentice, but… it can't hurt, can it? "It's mainly my own magic, but the seaweed is a very common plant. It exists everywhere and is supposed to have eyes in all the places it has been."

"Would I be able to do that?" Ariel asks.

That's it. Either she's purposefully trying to be rude, or no one has ever taught her about the do's and don'ts when it comes to sorcerers.

Ursula takes a bit too long to answer, and Ariel blurts a rushed, "Only, I don't want to bother you to do this every time I want to – well, see him, I suppose – "

Ursula smiles humorlessly. "You don't have a drop of magic in you," she says. The next words are sharp. "Without magic it won't work. Without seaweed it won't work. Without the cauldron it won't work. It needs every single ingredient to work."

Ariel looks to the floor. "I'm – I'm sorry," she says, softly, quietly, and Ursula clenches her teeth at the echo of Athena in her voice. "I didn't know I shouldn't…"

Lacking knowledge, then. No need to take offence, then. "No one told you," she says, gesturing dismissively. "You are not to blame for things you cannot control."

Ariel stares at her with wide eyes. She says nothing, does nothing, only stares with those wide, shocked eyes.

A beat. "Well," says Ursula gruffly, stepping back from the cauldron and jabbing her thumb at it. "It's all yours."

Ursula moves around Ariel with ease. She's used to her cauldron taking up space in the work room, and it's never been a problem before. It doesn't require a lot of work to add Ariel to the mental map.

She updates the list of items she has in her everyday-use stores, restacks some of the most crucial ingredients, takes note of what she needs to have more of, and sends Flotsam and Jetsam off to find some of it for her.

And then there's nothing more for her to do, except float around mindlessly and moving a bottle here or there. That's a waste of time, to be quite honest, but Ursula doesn't want to leave Ariel alone in the work room – nor does she want to just stare at her.

Alright. Conversation it is.

She stands and moves across the room, resting her elbows on the opposite side of the cauldron. Ariel doesn't speak or glance up, but she shifts, tilting her head slightly. It's subtle, but it's there, and it warms Ursula to see that she has her attention so easily.

"What do you see?" she asks, keeping her tone low.

Ariel hesitates. "His castle." Her tone is low, as well – and still enough to disturb the surface of the lights. They flicker and dance across her face. "Him, more often than not, but…" She frowns down into the cauldron. "Sometimes his friends. His servants. And… sometimes none of them. Sometimes I'm just… floating through the empty halls." She looks up, then, eyebrows drawn close together. The lights are reflected in her eyes. "What does that mean?"

Ursula chuckles and shakes her head. "Love is not black and white." Ariel's confused expression deepens. "This spell lets the watcher see whatever holds their heart," she attempts to explain. "It matters not whether that love is romantic, platonic, or something else entirely. A parent might see their child, an artist might see their craft." She shakes her head again. "It means only that you love his world as much as you love him. And that is not a bad thing, my child."

Ariel hums softly, then looks down into the cauldron once more. "And you?" she asks. She does not look up. "What do you see?"

The lights dance. They swirl and twirl and flow around each other, tugging and twisting – and they form nothing. Ursula smiles grimly. "Nothing," she says. "Nothing at all."

Ariel comes back the next day. She doesn't say what she's there for, and Ursula doesn't ask. She just gestures for the cauldron with one hand, not looking up from her books. Silence settles again.

Now, she's fairly sure she's getting closer to having a solid first-half of the spell. The transformation is truly the trickiest part – the legs, and lungs, and the whole thing with tolerating the pressure for longer times – it's not as simple as to just give her legs. She needs to change every single cell in her body. But! She's getting closer! The sacrifices are piling up, however – she'll need to look into that.

She's snacking on some shrimps Jetsam had caught for her when Ariel lets out a startled cry. "What!" she yells, straightening but not looking away from the cauldron. "No, no – this can't be – no!"

Ursula looks over, swallowing the shrimp with a grimace. "What?" she barks. "What is it?"

"They're marrying him off!" Ariel is gripping the edge of the cauldron so tightly that hadn't Ursula made it herself, she would have been worried it would crack. "It's his birthday, they're forcing a wife on him – "

Ursula's blood becomes steel in her veins.

(I'm getting married)

(wedding bells and cheering and Athena singing)

(a dream turned nightmare –)

"No, no," Ariel whispers. Her eyes are filling with tears. She slumps over, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. "He refuses – they argue – " Her voice rises to a cheer. "He storms from the room!" And her voice falls once more. "But they're not giving up so easily – "

(I wish I could've fought it wish I had a choice wish I'd know it was magic wish I wish I wish I –)

The lights flicker and disappear.

Ursula heaves after air. "Sorry!" she blurts, "Sorry, sorry – " She grapples for her magic, directing it back to the cauldron. The lights flicker back.

Ariel stumbles away, staring at it with wide eyes.

Ursula is stronger than this. She must be, right now, for Ariel's sake. And with practiced ease she pushes down the beat of her heart, the heave of her chest, cloaking herself in steel-cold determination.

She crosses the room in less than a second, aiming to offer comfort – and stops, hovering uncertainly behind Ariel. It crosses her mind that she hasn't comforted anyone beyond Flotsam and Jetsam in several years. Hesitantly she puts a hand on Ariel's shoulder – unsure if that's okay, if it's allowed, half-expecting Ariel to flinch away from her –

and Ariel promptly flings herself at her. She throws her arms around her neck, presses her face into Ursula's shoulder, and shakes. "What do I do?" she whispers hoarsely, worry and sorrow and crass determination in her voice. "What if he marries?"

Thank Poseidon for conversation – keep both of their mouths busy so Ursula doesn't have to think about what to do with her arms. "Do not lose hope, child," she says, placing a hand on Ariel's shoulder. "He's human – even if he marries, he can still love you. Their hearts are great, they can hold many at a time."

"I will never love any other!" Ariel cries, shaking her head against Ursula's shoulder. "Never! I cannot!"

Ursula blows frantically at the water in front of her, lest she gets a mouthful of Ariel's hair. "I know," she says, bringing her other arm up as well. "I know, child, I know better than any." She looks to the roof. "I shall make you human, so you can go to him, but I cannot make him love you."

Ariel shakes. "He does," she whispers, so quiet that it barely reaches Ursula's ears. "He already does, I know he does, I can see it in the way he stares at the sea – " She chokes on her own words, then muffles a wail. "But what if he marries?"

"Perhaps he won't," Ursula tries, desperate for Ariel to calm down, for her sorrow to settle. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Flotsam and Jetsam, the two of them frozen still as statues by the entrance. She gestures frantically for them to leave. "Let's take it as it comes, child – there might yet be hope."

Ariel shivers in her arms, then sniffles and nods. She starts to pull back. Ursula lets go instantly, backing off as though burned. "Yes," Ariel says, sniffling again. "Yes, there – might yet be – " She swallows, rubbing at her eyes, and turns back to the cauldron "I'm not leaving your side, my prince," she whispers. The look in her eyes is so tender and soft that Ursula must turn from it. She doesn't wish to intrude on such a moment.

"I'll – be right back," Ursula says, softly, more to herself than Ariel. She goes in the direction Flotsam and Jetsam had disappeared. They're hovering right around the corner, eyes worried, twisting and turning –

they rush to her once she arrives. Ursula collapses against the wall, pressing her hands against her face. Flotsam and Jetsam swirl around her, close and closer still until their scales brush against her skin.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

"What plagues you, Witch of the Sea?" Jetsam asks, in the way they so often do, sounding indifferent when the worry really burns into their very bones.

Ursula gives no answer right away, slowly dragging her hands down her face. "Her – " she tries, but she chokes off, pressing a hand to her chest as she forces herself to calm. "Her Heart might marry another," she manages, finally, and it's been years.

Understanding noises from Flotsam as they wriggle closer, pushing in under her arm, around it, settling across her belly. "Do you need a moment?" they ask, twisting their head to stare at Ursula with a piercing, yellow eye.

"We can tell the princess you have business to attend to," Jetsam adds, twisting the other way so there's an eel head on either side of her.

It's a tempting thought – to disappear back to her chambers and stuff her face into the soft surface of her bed, thinking of nothing and doing nothing.

"No." She hauls herself up once more, Flotsam and Jetsam moving with her as easily as they breathe. "No, she shouldn't be alone." She bats them away, bats her emotions away, bottles them up as though they were just another herb to her collection, and goes back into the room.

Ariel doesn't look up. "They're arguing again," she says, worrying her lip. "He doesn't want to marry, but – there's something about a promise made to his dad? I'm not sure, they're talking too fast to read…"

"Don't blame yourself," Ursula says, squaring her shoulders as she walks over to her notebooks. It's more urgent now than ever to finish the spell.

Ariel nods distantly. "Do you… have a spare page?" she asks, after a hesitant pause. "I'd like to take notes…"

If she has a spare page? If she has a spare page? "Poseidon's halls, child, have you seen my collection?" she asks, half-heartedly attempting a joke even as her voice wobbles dangerously. "You can have a whole notebook if you so wish. I'll find one."

She has two whole shelves full of empty notebooks. She goes automatically for a basic, nondescript one one –

But a half-buried thought arises, and she stops.

She raises her hand a few shelves and grabs the oldest notebook she has. Leather-bound, died rusty red with powdered coral, the edges trimmed with gold and set with emeralds.

A wedding gift.

Ursula stares at it for a moment.

Then she returns to Ariel.

"Here," she says, handing the book over. "This belonged to your mother."

Ariel freezes, then blinks at the book, before looking up at Ursula with wide eyes. "It – did?" There's suspicion in her voice, but confusion as well, and a terrible, terrible sorrow.

Ursula nods curtly. "And now it's yours," she says, flicking a pen over to her.

She grabs the pen, but is still frowning at the cover. Opening the book, the frown fades, a surprised look taking its place. "It's empty," she says, leafing through the pages in wonder.

Ursula turns away. "I know." And her heart aches. "I know."

She disappears completely into her sketching and note-taking. Before she realizes she's filled up four whole pages of scribbling and sketching. There's almost nothing remaining of her fingernails, and her hair is a mess. When she looks up it's gone dark, Jetsam is asleep on top of a shelf, and Flotsam is watching her with tired eyes.

"Time?" she croaks, voice hoarse after too-long of no use.

Flotsam inclines their head. "Nearing the fifth hour."

Ursula curses under her breath. The sixth hour is the peak of night – if they're nearing the fifth it's far too late to be up. She turns to Ariel, ready to tell her it's late, but the words die on her tongue when she sees her.

The poor girl has fallen asleep on top of the cauldron, arm draped across the edge and cheek pressed against it. The notebook has fallen to the floor, half the page filled with neat scribbles and quite a few question marks.

She looks so peaceful where she lies – first now does Ursula see the bruises beneath her eyes. But she can't keep sleeping there – her father will worry, and if he worries, he'll come looking, and if he finds Ariel here –

She swallows.

"Ariel." Ursula puts a hand on Ariel's shoulder to stir her. "Ariel, you have to go."

A muttered complaint, but then she raises her head, blinking sleepily at the room. "Wh…?"

"You fell asleep," Ursula says, trying hard not to sound amused. "Apologies. I forgot the time. We're nearing the fifth hour."

She's awake before the last word leaves Ursula's mouth, sitting straight as a stick. "Dad!" she cries. "Oh, no!" She shoots up, frantically pulling at her hair to get it out of her face. "Oh, he'll skin me! Ah – here, the book – "

"Take it," Ursula says, pushing the book back at her. "Go, now, before your father comes to tear my home apart."

Ariel doesn't even complain, only grasps after the book and stuffs it into her sachet. Then she halts, casting a glance to the cauldron, then to Ursula, and finally at the exit.

"Go," Ursula says, lazily waving a hand at the door. "He'll survive the night."

"Thank you!" Ariel blurts, and then she's gone.

Ursula stares at the spot she'd occupied and finds that she cannot remember the last time she was thanked.