it's getting kind of blurry at a quarter past ten

The first time Nene sees a human up-close, he is dying.

At least — she thinks he's dying. She has no frame of reference, but she knows that humans aren't like mermaids; their lungs are not built to inhale salty seawater, and their fragile frames are similarly unable to withstand the turbulent waves that thrash and wallop during the darkest hours of a storm.

So for a couple of long, terrifying minutes, Nene thinks that she's too late.

If only she swam quicker. If only she hadn't been perched so far away from the boat. If only she hadn't been struck paralzyed by a mixture of fear and wonder the moment her eyes landed on the boat to begin with. But she couldn't help it. It was as if she'd been hooked by one of those fishing lines she was always warned about the instant she came across the ship with its massive sails and name plate engraved in brass.

The Voyager

A name like that almost seemed to challenge the perilous seas. Brazen and defiant; a beacon of light cutting through coarse waters. Even from her safe distance nestled on a nearby rock, she could feel the warmth of those onboard. The mirth and merriment colored her cheeks. The roarous laughter, the sea shanties, the rumble of footsteps were all a stark contrast to the cold, dark sea.

And then she laid eyes on him. The most beautiful thing on the ship by far.

Untamed hair—as dark as the night itself, and glittering golden eyes. A young man donning a black buttoned up military uniform leaned against the railing of the boat. His eyes were glued skyward with an almost melancholic expression. Looking at him then, Nene felt something in her chest burst almost painfully. An intense yearning — the scale of which has never been matched was illuminated from within her. She watched, fascinated, for minutes on end, trying to memorize his expression in that moment, the curve of his jaw, the way the soft moonlight bounces off the crown of his head.

Finally after a long moment, her admirer's attention wanes from the sky and instead begins scanning the waters as if sensing her gaze. Her stomach churns in a mixture of panic and excitement. Perhaps she'd been too blatant with her staring. She felt that was to be expected since this was one of her first encounters with humans.

He panned his head slowly. Any more to the right and they would make eye contact. But of course (as luck would have it), just then a crash of thunder strikes the port of the ship. Chaos erupts, the flames are immediate, and the ocean that was so calm just moments prior, now lashes against the boat, licking up its side as if trying to swallow it whole. There's yelling, screaming, and desperate attempts by the crew to remedy the damage already done, but the ocean is merciless and unforgiving. The next moment, the ship capsizes completely and everyone on the vessel, including the dark-haired young man, is tossed overboard, plunging into the deep fathoms below.

Now Nene been told all her life about the dangers of humans, and how mermaids were to remain unseen by sailors—dangerous men who fashioned harpoons and robbed the sea raw of its fish and oysters, but the moment she saw her nameless paramour fall over starboard, she had leapt into action without thinking at all.

The whole thing was a blur of thrashing arms, tangled limbs, and her restless heart pounding painfully against her ribcage, chanting: please, please, please, please!

However when they reached the shore, the young man was already limp in her arms. It was an awful realization, but the heaviness in her arms was nothing compared to what she felt in her heart. Laying him down in the sand, and seeing no movement, Nene felt small. Insignificant. Utterly powerless against the wrath of the ocean.

And so, the little mermaid had resigned herself to staring listlessly at her first human. A human, who moments prior had been full of life and vigor.

Humans really do die so easily, she thought sadly as she traced the dip of his brow with her fingers. She's in between brushing through his wet matted hair, when all of a sudden she sees those long, dark lashes flutter, and soon the movement of his chest-heaving up and down, up and down, like pure poetry.

Her entire body goes still, and she waits with bated breath for one heartbeat, then another, and another. It's not until she sees eyelids peel back; sees the light reflected in his golden pupils that her entire chest collapses in relief. She's so caught up in this relief, that it takes her a while to process the fact that those golden eyes she was so enamored with are currently fixated on her, looking awed and curious.

Awash with panic and (inappropriately enough) a wave of self-consciousness, Nene plants a kiss on his cheek before her nerves could persuade her otherwise.

"A magic spell...to help you feel better."

Not daring to brave a look at his reaction, she leaps back into the water, hoping the blue of the water would mask her beating red face.

Nene later learns that his name is Amane, and he's the Prince.

She learns all this by lurking close to the surface, spending her weeks scouting around the area and spying from afar. Whereas before, the little mermaid had been too scared to ever stray from the depths of the sea, this newfound curiosity — this hunger to see Amane again, has wound itself tightly around her like a braided cord. It pulls her up to the shallows of the water day after day, and keeps her rooted there until dawn.

—Which is convenient because it seems Amane has taken to frequenting the shores lately as well.

He's every bit as beautiful as she remembers him to be.

Sometimes the Prince is joined by Royal Advisors who nag him to take a wife sooner rather than later, and other days, by servants who wish to fulfill his every luxury. But most of the time he walks the shorelines alone, eyes skimming the surface of the waters every so often.

Nene is careful to stay hidden from his gaze; convincing herself that she is content with just staring. She sits back, imagining what it might be like to brush those tiny hairs out of his forehead; to feel his smile pressed against her skin, or feel his fingers laced with hers. Her fantasies leave a skittering sensation in her belly.

But when she looks back to Amane from her place on the jagged rocks that surround the seabank, unlike the prince from her daydreams who is all sunbursts and marble halls, he looks...sad.

So she takes to leaving him little gifts. Whatever she can get her hands on. She leaves him shells, colorful rocks, and pretty trinkets that dust the ocean floor. Anything that might get his eyes to sparkle the way they did when he looked up at her for the first time she brings to him.

She leaves them scattered on the coastline where she knows he will walk past. And he does. The first time he'd seen one of her gifts, she'd watched his face crumple in concentration as he bent low to retrieve it. Strands of wet hair were still plastered to his face from the salty sea breeze as he surveyed the item. Then, after a long moment, he had smiled, and she swore the heavens hummed a stun gun lullaby at the sight.

Just a simple curve of his lips, and her soul jump started. Every step he took along the bank after that day was a reckless serenade for her heart. And for once, watching his retreating backside, Nene wished he would turn around and finally spot her from her hiding place by the rocks. She wished more than anything he would look at her like he did her gift, eyes widening in recognition (and maybe admiration), and say, 'ah! There you are.'

But he doesn't. His figure disappears up along one of the trails that lead to the castle. It isn't until he's gone completely that Nene feels the collapse of her chest. The pain coats the back of her throat. It rolls in waves like the seawater beneath her tail.

Even when she releases it. All she can feel, all she can see, all that there is; is the bottomless blue.

Her friend Kou visits her. Sometimes Mitsuba comes along, sometimes he doesn't. Nene tries to do all the things she used to do that brought her joy, like exploring abandoned shipwrecks, swimming with stingrays, daydreaming about pirates and forbidden romances, except it's not enough anymore. The braided cord that once pulled her up the shore faithfully each day had turned into a noose without her even realizing it.

Her newfound desires burn with the intensity of a hundred searing suns. How she longs to walk alongside Prince Amane by the shore; oh how she wants to feel the wind in her hair, the rumble of his laugh under her fingertips, the grains of sand against her bare feet.

She wants to be...human.

Human! She rolls the word around in her mouth, over and over again, until she knows what it tastes like. Until she can feel the word imprint into her throat, and then into the deepest depths of her soul. It consumes her. Devours her. Overwhelmed her with a sense of urgency that demanded to be felt.

And so, naive, determined, and tremendously in love, Nene does the only thing she can think to do — and the very thing she knows she shouldn't do. She visits the Sea Witch Sakura, the most revered and powerful enchantress of all the seven seas.

Sakura sits back in her regal throne made of sea glass and coral, green hair shimmering like stardust, and braided kelp hanging over her thin frame like a canopy as she carries all the grace and poise an enchantress should have. "If that's what you want. Your wish will be granted...for a price."

"Anything," Nene whispers, trying to stomach the hope that came flooding to the surface too fast at her words.

"For changing your tail into human legs, you must give up your voice."

"My-My voice?" Nene echoes astounded. "But without my voice, how can I…?"

"That is the price for human legs," the Sea Witch says in a stoic tone, "and be careful," she tacks on hurriedly, "if your love does not return your affections and instead chooses to wed someone else, the spell will break on the midnight ringing in their wedding day."

"If the spell breaks...I would be a mermaid again?"

"No. Once you become human, you can never return to the sea. If this Prince of yours weds another, you will turn into seafoam."

Something sharp twists inside Nene and suddenly she's lightheaded.

"If the Prince chooses someone else...I would be seafoam," she repeats, mulling over the words in hope that saying it out loud will help her process it better. Seafoam. If her Prince didn't love her back then she would be rendered to practically air. Nothing but bubbles washing up to the shoreline. She would be froth lost in the great expanse of the oceans. She would be nothing.

"Unless—" the Sea Witch's one word cuts through the little mermaid's inner turmoil, causing her to snap her head up; watching as Sakura produces a dagger from behind the throne, holding it out for her to inspect. "Unless you stab your true love with this dagger made of sea glass and mermaid tears. If you stab him with this knife and spill his blood over your legs, they will turn back to a tail and you can find your way back to the ocean. But you must do it before he marries someone else."

Nene chokes, stumbling back. Her eyes fixate on the blade in question. It shone in low light, looking sharp, polished, and eager to be used.

"I-I couldn't."

Sakura sighs, as if knowing all along she wouldn't take the knife.

"Then knowing that you will never be able to return to the sea, do you still wish to make this trade?"

Nene is silent for a moment. A life without her family and friends. A life without Kou, and Mitsuba, and the waters she's known her entire life. There would be no more coral reefs to explore, no whales to nap on, or dolphins to swim with, there would just be sand, and large willow trees, and him. She thinks back to the day she saved him, the way he looked at her with his hair askew and eyes wide. Being under his gaze had felt sturdier than anything else she'd known. She knows there's absolutely no part of her that could ever walk away from the chance to be in his life, a chance to be his. She can see it. So clearly that it hurts. Just beyond the pale horizon, another life where she'd welcome him home and he would lean his cheek against the palm of her hand, soft, warm and content. When Nene looks up at the Sea Witch again, the answer is clear in her eyes.

"Yes."

Sakura's mouth curls for a brief moment, something akin to pity dusting the curve of her lips; almost as if silently willing her to change her answer, but then the moment passes and the Witch is plucking off a single strand of emerald hair.

"Very well," she says. She loops the strand around her finger, once then twice, three times, and suddenly Nene sees smoke start to roll around her in great white masses. The water shines bright and silvery, and a hush falls over the ocean floor. When the dust settles again, Nene takes a look down to find her tail still staring back at her, but when she opens her mouth to ask, she feels a knot in her throat and all her words come up dry.

"The trade is done," Sakura says. "Swim up to the shore. When your tail is exposed to air and sunlight, it will change into human legs. But once you swim up, there will be no reversing it."

Happiness breaks over Nene like a wave. She bows deeply to the witch, trying to express nonverbally just how grateful she is. Then, without another moment to spare, she swims out of the lair at lightning speed, even twirling around in delight; feeling lighter and freer than she has in years.

Human legs! A human! She can scarcely picture it without swooning. Finally, she can see her prince without hiding. What will he think when he sees her? Would he even recognize her? —No, it's probably better that he doesn't recognize her now that she can't talk. But what if he does? Oh, how is she gonna make him fall in love with her if she can't talk?

"Nene," a voice says, interrupting her from her reverie.

The little mermaid turns around to find Kou a few feet behind her. Kou. The Kou she knows so well with his face frank and something cloudy muddying up those usually bright and straightforward eyes of his. Nene's insides turn to stone. He knows.

Was he present when the deal was being made? Had he heard about the part where she would turn into seafoam if the prince doesn't love her back? More importantly, is he here to talk her out of the deal? Well, if he is, he's too late. Her voice is already traded, and once she swims up to the shore she'll be human permanently.

Nene tries to look confident and unwavered in her choice by holding her head higher, and straightening her back. She looks at Kou. Kou. Her childhood protector, her best friend since birth. He's always been there to pull her out of trouble time and time again, and she expects no less this time around too. But instead of talking her out of swimming ashore, Kou closes the distance between them, pressing something shiny and silvery into her hands. When Nene glances down, she sees the same dagger the sea witch had offered her; the same upturned blade and same seashell rimmed handle. She flinches away like it burns, but Kou pushes the dagger firmer into her hands, his eyes so unflinchingly rigid she can't bring herself to push him away a second time.

"Just in case, okay?"

Then he pulls her in for a tight hug, and it's warm, and comforting, and familiar, but all Nene can feel is the cold sting of the dagger in her hands.

There were storms more graceful than Nene when she finally makes it up to the surface.

Washed up on the sand, her lungs feel weak, her eyes burn from the salty water, and her tail! Her tail aches more than she can ever recall it aching before. Just as she rolls over to inspect the damage, she realizes with a start that it's not a tail at all. Not anymore. In place of her tail, there are now a pair of human legs.

A fluttering sensation travels all the way from her stomach to the base of her throat at the discovery. Legs. Actual human legs. They look a little stumpier than what she'd seen on the other humans, but still. They were undeniably human legs. And they were hers.

Trying to test her new limbs out, Nene hurriedly attempts to stand upright. This first attempt sees her landing face-first back into the sand. But the second is slightly more successful. And by the third try, she is only stumbling slightly as she takes her tentative first steps. It's foreign, and spectacular; the feeling of sand squeezing between her toes, the absence of scales as she runs her fingers across the smooth surface. Her knees buckle and her legs shake, but it's everything she dreamed it would be.

She's able to clumsily make her way across the bank and wrap an old sail around herself before her new legs give out from exhaustion. How did humans do it all day? Walk around so effortlessly? By the rate she's going, it would be sundown before she'd even be able to leave the beach.

"Excuse me, are you alright?"

Nene snaps her head in the direction of the voice, and the sight alone is enough to kickstart her heart into the next century.

Amane. Prince Amane is looking at her with his messy hair, and reverent gaze. His eyes shine like the glimmer of sunlight on the sea, and his smile is just as soft as the day she rescued him.

Something in his face changes when he gets a better look at her, the next thing she knows, he's coming closer to her, kneeling so that they're at level; and gods, he's even more beautiful up close.

"Are you…?" he trails off.

Nene opens her mouth. She wants to come up with a convincing lie, she wants to tell him the complete god honest truth, she wants to take his hand in hers and break into a soliloquy about just how much she loves him. About what she would do for him, but of course, what comes out is silence.

Confusion furrows Amane's brow.

"Are you alright? ...You, you can't talk? Did something happen?"

When Nene shakes her head again, she swears she sees something like sadness coating the Prince's countenance. But he wipes it off convincingly before reaching a hand towards her. The action is slow and tentative as he's trying his hardest to figure out how best to respond without scaring her off.

"Let me help you," he says at last. Nene takes the offered hand, and when she predictably stumbles again —blast those darn legs!— Prince Amane only pulls her closer, hand on her waist and lips to her temple as he whispers reassuringly, "Whoa there, I've got you. I've got you."

Just like that, the rest seemed easy.

The first few weeks on land feel like nothing but a hazy daydream.

In the span of one afternoon, the Little Mermaid's life got flipped, and turned upside down, going from endless blue waters to parapet walls and high ceiling chambers. Now when she looks up, she sees tall ivory columns in place of twilight and stars, and instead of algae and bright coral, and schools of fish, she sees Amane, Amane, Amane.

Nene spent many sun-seeped afternoons basking in the glory of her Prince up close, shamelessly soaking him up.

Amane had brought her back to the palace after finding her washed ashore on the sand. He'd treated her more graciously than she thought she deserved; making sure the staff had her bathed, fed and fitted into the finest of gowns. She'll never forget that first day, when the handmaiden finally succeeded in scrubbing out all the salt from her skin and helped her into a pretty green dress with frilly petticoats underneath. Amane had taken one look at her when she arrived before he smiled and said, "ah, there you are."

In that moment, Nene's heart was so big and full, she was afraid it might pop open and burst at the seams. Then he'd asked her for her name. When her voice came out silent again, she had panicked and wrote it out on his palm. Stroke by stroke, line after line. And after she'd finished, he'd repeated it back firmly, then curled his fingers around where her's had been, clasping his hand tight as if holding onto a secret.

Since then he's taken her out all over the village, to bookstores, and bakeries, and plays. She still can't talk. But he doesn't need her to. They dance in the village square, where she definitely steps on his toes a few times too many, but that doesn't stay a problem when he pulls her close instead and just sways. She tastes the ripest apples, drinks bubbly champagne for the first time, and feels so light and airy, she wonders if that's what being seafoam would feel like.

But as much as she loves the village and all the secret shops hidden in every nook and cranny of those winding brick roads, there's nothing she loves more than being in the castle; pushing open the entry to the library and seeing Amane splayed out on an old chair. He looks handsome like that. Dirty hair, crooked grin, book resting on his stomach, sunlight streaming in through the window, making him look golden in patches.

She loves him the most like that. When he has his guard down. Her reverent dreamer. Her dizzy stargazer. Her handsome angel with premature wings. She loves him so much it aches.

One day, after teaching her how to play rummy, the two of them had teamed up to beat Amane's tutor under not so valiant circumstances (which may or may not have involved rearranging the deck of cards beforehand and coordinating their turns). And as Nene watched Tsuchigomori sensei's salt and pepper hair disappear down the corridor, hearing his dissatisfied mumblings, she couldn't help but giggle, shoulders shaking as if substituting for her stolen voice.

Amane's eyes light up at the sight. He pauses shuffling the cards to bend down and whisper conspiratorially. "I think," he says, his voice low and suggestive, "that you're my favorite person in this castle."

Warmth bursts inside Nene's stomach. It spreads throughout her, from her heart to the empty space inside her ribcage. She wants to scream, shout, dance, tell him she loves him. But she settles on a shy grin and helping him clean up the rest of their games.

When the rest of the games are stacked; the moonlight wafts in through a high ceiling window and she is hyper aware of Amane's gaze on her. An expression she can't quite decipher painted on his face.

"Hey Yashiro, tell me the truth, are you…?"

She waits one heartbeat, then two, then three, but the sentence stays unfinished. She doesn't know what he's asking her for. She doesn't know how to answer. His eyes are challenging, as if urging her to speak up and confirm his suspicions. What suspicions, she's not sure. But either way she can't. He must know she can't.

"Nevermind, forget I said anything," he says at last. "You must be tired. Why don't you go to bed?"

Nene bows her head deep and turns around to leave. But even with her back turned, she swears she feels those eyes of warm amber trailing behind her like an afterthought.

A week passes, then another, and another.

Amane's schedule gets busier. More Princely duties to take care of. They have less time to goof off around the castle or explore old shops in the village, so Nene takes to spending her time idling around the library, helping the maids do chores, learning new card games from the palace guards. Amane does give her more looks though.

That is, if her imagination isn't playing tricks on her.

Finally, after another week full of tutoring and important royal council meetings, Amane takes Nene out on a stroll by the shore where it all began. It's night by the time the royal meeting adjourns, and she watches Amane's eyeline follow the steady stream of moonlight reflected on the waves. The Prince may not love her, but the little mermaid is content to spend the rest of her days by his side, just like this; watching him watch the moon.

It's a chillier night than she's used to. Wind nips at her cheeks. She blows a warm breath to her cupped palms. Amane catches her doing so and casually slips one of her hands into his pocket, unaware that that simple action is enough to keep her up all night.

"Hey Yashiro," he says, almost absently as they pause right by the sea bank. "You know I almost drowned right here in these waters." A jolt of electricity passes through her. She tries to school her reaction to one that looks like surprise. Giving her another meaningful look, Amane continues, "but someone rescued me. A girl."

Those amber eyes flit over to her direction again, and only then does Nene realize just how carefully he is watching her reaction. She manages to nod. There's something she can't quite decipher in his voice, an edge she isn't familiar with.

"I would like to marry her," Amane says then, and Nene swears her heart leaps into her throat. "—But I can't." Her heart slams straight back in her stomach, and her mind is reeling. Amane's face is full of shadows as he says the next part. "I have to marry a princess. It's all been arranged already."

Time stops. The world shifts on its head. Amane keeps talking but Nene can't hear anything over the roar of blood in her ears. She feels her chest ripping open, the stitchings coming undone one by one — rip, rip, rip — in a mangled, mutilated fashion. Amane is getting married. Someone else will stand beside Amane. Someone else will brush those dark fringes out of his tired eyes. Someone else will get to feel his grip on the small of their backs. Safe and secure. And it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

But it hurts even more hearing the pain in Amane's voice; knowing he needs to assent to a union he doesn't want. Knowing that he will. Because he's a good Prince. A good man.

Brushing her own grief aside, Nene squeezes his hand once, twice — three times, trying to tell him without words, how badly she aches for him. How much she loves him. How she wants to spend the rest of her days watching the vast, impossible expansion of the universe, right here by his side; braving wind storms and hurricanes; that he is the heartbeat beneath her ribs, and that he is the stars, and her, space dust, longing to be in his orbit.

She wants to tell him that, for him, she would swim through the deepest depths of the oceans, travel across the farthest reaches of the cosmos. That his name is the beginning, middle, and end of every thought she has. And that she loves him. She loves him so so much. More than these legs she has to stand on, more than the sun, the stars and the moon combined, and more than life itself.

But of course, what comes out is silence.

It's a quarter past ten, the world around them is blurry, and the night is quiet as if holding its breath. Nene wants to tell Amane that it's gonna be okay. That this is for the best. That she's glad she at least got to know him, and that she's thankful for this night together. This beautiful, sad, starry night.

Amane's grip on her hand tightens, and when he speaks at last, his voice is so low that even the quiet sound of waves gently lapping up against the shore is almost enough to drown it out. It's like he's aware just how fragile this moment between them is; how one wrong move and the spell will snap.

"Say Yashiro," he says. "What if…tomorrow just didn't come?"

Nene pauses, trying to process his words. Coming up empty, she looks at him with the equivalent of a question mark painted across her face. Amane catches her look and chuckles, thumb grazing over her fingers as he licks his lips and continues, "For example, what if today ended up being a really good day? You might start wishing tomorrow would never come. Have you thought about that?"

Nene leans in closer to hear his next words, but instead of speaking, he does something else. In a flash; before she can even exhale, she is in the sand, and Amane is above her, holding her wrists down, outlined in that same warm moonlight that once beckoned at her from the shining oceans below.

His eyes are wild and glossy, a sheen of madness coating his previously calm and collected veneer. She doesn't recognize this Amane. This — this twisted, contorted version of her love who is pressed solid against her. This stranger Amane who is looking at her with unfamiliar ardent desperation, and an urgency she isn't capable of comprehending.

"Yashiro, how about doing a lover's suicide with me?"

Even if Nene had her voice then she would've been rendered speechless.

She blinks, wide-eyed and mouth agape. And she's not scared, she could never be scared of him — but she is confused. Because? This is Amane? Gentle, kind-hearted Amane who naps on the library floor with his dark hair splayed across wooden tiles. Amane who pauses during card games to stare wistfully out at the moon. Amane who catches her gaze from across the room (even when she's trying to hide behind a pillar) and smiles, stopping to mouth her name in that way that makes her chest feel like it's coming undone.

There's nothing kind and gentle about the Amane now; smile so sharp and polished it looks like a blade eager to be used. He presses into her deeper, willing her, daring her to speak. Nene can do nothing but stare back at him, thinking about all those months ago when he fell overboard and she had dragged him up to this exact spot. Pinned him down just like he was pinning her down. The look in his eyes then, the look in his eyes now.

Amane twitches above her. A heartbeat later he is pushing himself off of her and rolling on the sand beside them. He gets up, dusting the sand from his trousers before offering her a hand.

"I'm just kidding, sorry for pushing you down. I just wanted to see your surprised face. It was very cute."

She takes his hand after only some hesitation. She wants to believe him, however, the restlessness in her chest doesn't settle. They walk back to the castle in silence. He leaves a foot of distance in between them.

It feels like a divot between canyons.

The next week, true to Amane's word: the Princess from the nearby kingdom of Glowerhaven arrives in a beautiful horse drawn carriage pulled by four snowy white mares. Her name is Aoi Akane, and she is everything a princess looks like; coming to them dressed head to toe in frills, lace, and a pretty ball gown that reaches the floor. Her hair is done up in two neat ringlets that manage to stay tidy even as she curtsies low and proper to the members in the castle.

She has the sort of smile that could drown a sailor.

In fact, she is so bewitchingly beautiful that it's almost overwhelming. The kind of beautiful it almost hurts to look at. Nene feels her own self-esteem plummet lower and lower the longer she stares.

The castle staff of course are immediately enchanted, swooning and murmuring thoughts of approval. Amane himself steps up to meet the princess, bowing deep before taking her hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles. The sight is so painful Nene has to force herself to look away.

The Prince takes Aoi's hand in his and excuses the two of them to go to the garden where they can better get acquainted. Amane catches her eye on the way out and gives her a look she can't quite place, but he's gone before she can make out what it means.

It's late when the two of them make their way back inside the palace.

Nene hadn't meant to loiter, but it was as if the legs she had attained were bewitched; moving on autopilot until she was lurking in the shadows of the throne room. She watches equal parts fascinated and heartbroken as the moonlight bounces off ivory columnes, and Amane laughs loudly at something Aoi says.

They're beautiful, she thinks. The kind of beautiful that radiates off of them in waves.

Just like that. She can see how it's gonna end. She can see Aoi brushing the tiny hairs out of Amane's eyes, can see Amane with his head in her lap, messy hair splayed on top of her beautiful silk gown. She can see Amane turning and catching Aoi's gaze, this time when he mouths something, it will be her name that passes through his lips.

A livewire of unease travels through Nene before settling low in her abdomen. Everything that once looked like stardust slowly begins turning into ashes right before the little mermaid's eyes.

Aoi Akane becomes a steady presence around the Palace.

Even though no engagement has been made official, the castle staff still treat it as though it had. They often go around the Prince and Princess with smug smiles, making off-hand comments about the suspected union.

Maybe that's why Aoi has taken to spending most of her time at the castle with Nene.

Nene finds that she doesn't mind this at all. She actually likes Aoi. She likes how gentle she is, how genuinely kind and friendly she is to everyone, even servants and handmaidens. Aoi didn't mind that Nene couldn't talk, or that she was prone to strange behaviours sometimes, like brushing her hair with a fork. Instead, the first time Aoi had caught her with a fork, she had laid it down by the dresser calmly, her laugh clear as a bell, as she opted to spend the rest of the night combing through Nene's long silvery tresses, telling her mystical tales from her home kingdom, ones of sirens, and enchantresses, and hunters who chased imaginary foxes.

Every story spun from Aoi's hairpin lips are precious to her. She holds them dear to her heart, chest burning in anticipation for the next time Aoi will tilt her head to the side knowingly, and say: "You've never heard of this one before, either? Well then, I'll tell you, Nene-chan."

If Amane had to get married to someone, Nene is glad it's someone like Aoi.

Still, this comforting tidbit does little to ease the mounting pressure in her chest. The one that's been building and building ever since that night out on the shore. It tightens every time she remembers Amane's face back then, hovering above her, the furrow of his brow, the storm clouds in his eyes.

She's had little opportunity to talk to him alone since that ill-fated outing.

Which is why it comes to her as a surprise when she sees him waiting outside her bedroom door one evening when she's returning from a visit to Aoi's chambers. Aoi had told her a particularly tragic tale about a girl who made a deal with a powerful wizard for love, and ended up becoming a willow tree, destined to weep for eternity for her unrequited love. The tale had hit a bit too close to home, and Nene's mind was still in a fog when she registered just who was parked outside her door.

"I need to talk to you," Amane says.

Me too, she mouths. He gives her hand a squeeze, silently urging her to go first.

Taking a deep breath in, Nene gently holds Amane's hand between her own two hands. She'd seen what looked to be a wedding band wrapped around one of Aoi's slender fingers earlier in the Princess' chamber, and even though it had felt like her lungs were caving in on themselves, she knows that she loves Amane, and she loves Aoi too. She wants the two of them to be as happy as they can, even if her time with them both is limited.

So opening the palm of his hand, Nene traces her finger across the flesh. Stroke by stroke, one line after another, feeling the heat radiating from his skin, just like she had done when he first asked her for her name all those months ago.

I'm happy for you

A muscle jumps in his jaw, and he snatches his hand from her like it burns. Hurt is written across every inch of his handsome face. She doesn't know what brought on this change in his demeanor, but she knows she can't stand the sight of it. Amane turns his gaze to the side, refusing to look at her for a long moment, and when his gaze returns, he has schooled his reaction to something a lot more detached.

"Thank you, Yashiro," he says, giving her one more curt nod before stalking off in the direction of the throne room.

She tries to call his name. She wants to tell him to turn around. To stay with her for just another moment longer now that their time together is short and fleeting.

But of course, what comes out is silence.

Amane's engagement to Aoi is announced the very next day.

There's a dull ache that settles over her much later, and Nene has trouble getting out of bed the next while.

Her mind is a fog, her heart a mess, and even her legs—the legs she worked so hard to attain seemed to turn against her. Every step she took after news of the engagement felt like walking on pins and needles. She felt the phantom ache of scales against her flesh, and heard the unforgiving whispers from mysterious fathoms below, as if death was now making its presence known as well.

Lying on her four poster bed, ceaseless whispers crept from the bottomless blue, raking its bony fingers in her hair. It bent down with its icy breath smelling of mildew and decay, whispering:

You're running out of time

You're gonna die

I know, she tries to will back to them. I'm half dead already.

She feels something like the curve of a smile pressed against her neck.

You are going to die...unless...

Shutting her eyes tight, Nene forces out the treacherous voices. She knows what death wants. She won't give in to them. She knows she could never find it in herself to kill the Prince. Never. No matter what he does or who he chooses to marry.

Because — while she may never possess him in the traditional sense of the word; he's ingrained in her heart; her love for him is rooted in her veins, a connection she could never sever. If she were to kill him, then her own heart would collapse too. It would be nothing but a heap of crushed tissues and crumpled arteries. Nene knows she'd sooner cut out her own heart than spill even a drop of his blood.

Still, the voices don't stop. Not completely; they merely quiet, muting to a dull roar in her ears. In her half delirious, completely exhausted state, she pulls open the drawer of the vanity, looking for anything that could shut up the ceaseless chatter. Instead the blood turns to ice in her veins.

Her dagger is missing.

The rest is all a haze to Nene. The royal wedding is hastily planned in the background of her foggy malaise. She helps fold paper flowers, collect seashells to decorate the great hall, she even helps Aoi pick out a veil for the important occasion.

But she doesn't sleep, or eat, or talk to Amane.

The voices from below are as just persistent as ever, but Nene pays them no heed. She'll soon be seafoam anyway.

Days pass into nights, and nights bleed into dusk. Everyday blurs together, whipping past her in a cacophony of fever, hope, dreams and sadness. It's like she's free-falling. A burnt out star on the cusp of crashing into earth. Her legs still ache. It's a restless thorn in her side that won't go away; except it's also aided and abetted by the incessant throbbing in her chest now as well.

She drifts in and out of real and imagined realities, weaving in memories of her time with Amane. That period of short-lived hazardous bliss. She thinks about her missing dagger, wonders if she'd thrown it into the ocean in one of her dazes. Wonders if she ever locked it up in her vanity to begin with at all.

Does the knife actually exist? Does she? Can it truly be called existing if she is to spend the rest of her time, not being haunted by the spectral of flickering lights and falling chairs; not even by the clock ticking down to her impending demise, but by the knowledge that Amane will be a ghost to what will become of her, and she is to spend the rest of her eternity in a stasis of darkness, dancing with the shadow of his absence?

She doesn't find an answer.

It's getting kind of blurry at a quarter past ten.

Midnight is just beyond the pale horizon. It dusts over mountaintops and paints the skies a velvety all consuming black. How fitting, considering it's the midnight ringing in Prince Amane of Trulia and Princess Aoi of Glowerhaven's wedding day.

A part of Nene wants to be more upset at all of this, but she's just resigned; resigned and scent of ink and old quills fills the air in what happens to be a quiet comfort for her. A gentle reprieve as she leans her head back against an old bookshelf and waits. She's always loved this little library tucked away in the corner of the castle. Always loved the way Amane looked curled up by the hearth of the blazing fire, with his cheeks pink and astronomy book in his hands, the edges worn from frequent use.

Smiling at the memory, she allows herself to get lost in the familiar daydream of him, nodding off as she imagines sleeping pressed up against his heartbeat. The rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest. She doesn't wake until the grand old clock chimes much later, signalling the start of witching hour.

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, Nene looks around the room, then down at her hands. She'd expected some change would've taken place by now, but everything looks the same. Startlingly normal. Another few moments pass, and the castle around her is still quiet as if holding its breath.

Why isn't she turning to seafoam?

A creak in the heavy wooden door signals someone's arrival. There's the clack of boots against linoleum tiles and then wooden ones.

"Yashiro," a familiar voice calls out from the shadows, and she turns, only to immediately wish she hadn't.

Nene sits there, mouth agape, utterly unable to comprehend the sight in front of her. The sight of Amane. Bathed in blood. Calm as a summer's day as he strides towards her confidently, one boot ahead of another.

"You're the girl, aren't you? The one who saved me?" His voice is strange, it reminds her of the rising tide of the ocean. She's too distracted by the sight of him to even take in his question as she stumbles onto her feet, immediately swooping in to inspect him for injuries. Her fingers just manage to reach him before he begins trailing one hand up the side of her face, then against her jaw, before cupping her cheek.

Gently, he lifts her face, pulling her closer until their foreheads are leaning together and they're eye to eye. Nene's breath hitches at the sight of his blown-open pupils. For a moment she thinks he's going to push her down, just like that day by the shore, with the tangy smell of salt and brine in the air, wrists pinned in the sand, and him outlined by the glow of the warm moonlight.

But then his pinky finger starts moving. She can feel the way it slowly caresses the side of her face in one slow, soft swipe, and it's somehow intimate and threatening all at the same time. The little mermaid has always imagined how the ministrations of her beloved prince's fingers might feel against her skin, but this feels...wrong. It feels like an act of transgression.

"I'm sorry, Yashiro. You know I couldn't get married to her. Not when my heart belongs to someone else. You understand, don't you? Why I had to get rid of her?"

The weight of his words finally settle on her chest. It feels like her lungs are collapsing and her skin is on fire. She finally manages to tear her eyes away from those impossibly bright pupils to the bloodied knife clutched in his other hand, the one not caressing her face. The blade shines back at her, every bit as sharp and wicked as when the sea witch first offered it to her.

As if sensing her wandering gaze, Amane grips her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting so their eyelines are at level again. "I really really did try," Amane says, not an ounce of regret in his hard set voice. "But it turns out I like Yashiro better than Aoi-chan after all."

Nene can't think. Can't breathe. All she can feel is pain, and confusion, and why why why?

Why did this happen?

Her heart feels like it's trying to traipse past all her other organs and burst out of her chest; she wants to break down, collapse in a tangled heap of limbs, pass out in carpet burns, she wants to do anything other than stare at this stranger in front of her.

His grine is wide and vacant. It catches onto her skin like a smiling hook. Blood smears onto her skin as he caresses her face again.

Nene screams. She screams and screams and screams.

But of course, what comes out is silence.

A/N: Written for Day 4 of JSHK Spooktober. The prompt was Dark Fairytale.

If you liked it, please drop a comment, and Happy Halloween!