XI

When Pearl left Peter's room, she was cold. She held her arms and rubbed her skin as she slowly walked. The moon was low in the sky, full and yellow. Her toes felt the cold surface of the ship that was almost wet, and she tried to comfort herself. With every step, she felt daggers break through her heels into her calves and up to her knees. She thought that she might get used to it, but the pain felt new every time it came. Peter had once told her that he had never seen anyone step as lightly or as gracefully as she did, but he knew nothing of what she endured. And now he had seen Petra, who was perfect in every way.

If only Peter knew what she had given up for him. She loved him. She had loved him from the moment she peered into the false yellow light which was so foreign to her then, but so familiar to her now. His movements seemed so genuine, his smile shone, and the way he touched his partner made her want him to touch her like that. Like he would break her if he held her even a little bit to tightly. She had felt that tenderness whenever he touched her, and she loved feeling as if she was being taken care of.

She knew that what she had given up for him was ridiculous. Not only had she lost her voice and edured a pain that never dulled, that she would never get used to, but she had also abandoned her father, her mother, her sisters. And most of all, her grandmother. Pearl was beginning to forget what her grandmother even looked like. Sometimes she wondered if he was worth it all, but she had only to look at him to know that it was. She only had to look into his eyes and see her feelings reflecting in them as if in a mirror to know that she had made the right choice.

A year ago, after her sister that was only a year her senior had swam to the surface, her grandmother had tucked a flower around her ear and explained to her the difference between humans and mermaids. Pearl couldn't understand why such young sailors sunk to the bottom of the sea when she would live for hundreds of years. Her grandmother had tried to explain the concept of a soul to her, but she couldn't understand it. She knew that mermaids after death turned into the foam on the sea, but the idea of a soul living forever was something she couldn't grasp. All she knew was that she wanted one. She wanted to live forever. With Peter.

Pearl leaned onto the side of the ship, letting the soft breeze life her hair off of her shoulders. She was staring at the sea foam, hating it for existing, hating it for its call. She knew her time was running out. The waves turned jagged, and soon he saw her eldest sister staring at her with her dark brown eyes. She would have gasped if she had had the voice for it. Her sister's once long, wavy, brown hair was now cut shorter than Peter's and was a pale blonde colour. Her most prized possession, looking as if it had been hacked off with a clam.

"Pearl," she whispered harshly, "our sisters and I have missed you greatly. We have all sacrificed to give you this one last chance."

She closed her eyes, and in Pearl's hands appeared a dagger. She gasped and nearly dropped the thing in fright. It was a cold, dark grey, crudely cut but deathly sharp. The hand had ivory vines carved into it, and at its butt was a dull red heart, outlined with silver roses. She wished she could cry as she had seen Lucy do, but she was not physically capable. She signed with a moan that got caught in her throat and cut off by her tongue. She tightened her grip on the dagger and flet the blade digging into her flesh.

"You must kill him," her sister begged, "else you will die. It's hopeless, Pearl. He'll never love you. This is your only chance. Don't break our grandmother's heart once more." Her head jerked a bit as if she suddenly became aware of something, and with a splash she was gone, and Pearl was left shivering and alone. She felt her knees give way and tried to help herself sit down.

She leaned against the side of the ship, peering through the rail to the foam once more. Her chest heaved with sobs that weren't there, but soon she heard something. She whipped her head around and would have screamed had she been capable. Never had Pearl seen such a creature. The beast blew air through its nostrils and shook out its mane.

"Don't be afraid, Pearl."

The boom of the creature's voice rang in her ears and startled her. Pearl could feel the blood from her fingers dripping down her arm and onto her nightgown, but she only held onto the dagger more tightly.

"Pearl, I know what plagues you. I know of your pain, and of everything you have gone through. I can help you, but only so much. In twenty-four hours, you will regain your voice. You will also regain your fin, Pearl. After that, you will have only a short time before you are premanently confined to the bottom of the sea. You will have another twenty-four hours. In two days you will either have acquired your soul, or you must return to the ocean."

Pearl didn't understand. She didn't know where this thing had come from, how it had gotten there, why it was talking to her, how it knew about her life, why she couldn't have more time. And she didn't understand how she could get a soul.

The creature shook its head, and she could have sworn she saw it smile. "Pearl, all your questions will be answered in time, but right now I will answer one of them. If your lips are to ever meet Peter's, part of his soul will emerge to form your soul, yet his will remain completely intact. There must be great love in this kiss for it to occur, though, Pearl. He must love you."

She nodded. The beast's gaze led her to look at Peter through the open cabin door. In his sleep, he was stroking Petra's hair lovingly, her head yielding to his slow breathing movements. She looked back to the creature, but he was gone. She stared at the dagger in her hands, her eyes dry and her throat still. She touched the tip of the blade, grazing her skin, tracing the wound and the now dry blood through her fingers. She wished she could cry. She wanted to cry. If only she could. She only stared at him, imagining that it was her in his arms, that his fingers were in her hair, that he was kissing her skin, nursing her wound. She fell asleep on the deck, cold and sad, hugging the dagger to her chest, wondering whether she should use it to kill Peter or to kill Petra.