The days grew more and more uninteresting. The man only returned to give her food, or to change her water. That was until a particularly hard storm, at least. Athena heard the thumping to panicked bipeds above her, but the sound of the waves so close calmed her.
The storm was reaching it's crux when her serenity was interrupted by the slamming door. It was the man, staring at her with those oil eyes. But the man was waving his hands around.
Athena tilted her head to the side, and the man seemed shocked, then shook his head with embarrassment. He took a little pad out of his pocket and started writing. He came to the side of her pool and showed her the writing.
She was thankful for the language lessons of her childhood, because the message was quite important.
"They want to kill you for cursing the ship."
She reached out. And took the pad, writing with smooth lines and speed.
"I've done no such thing." He took the pad back, and they kept trading it for the conversation.
"They heard your singing, you know. These pirates are no fools."
"Does it look like I have any tools for such a task? I don't even have an ocedente."
"Ocedente?"
"The spears for magic? You do not use them?" This puzzled Athena, considering she had seen humans toting the spears often. She always assumed they were for self-defense, since bipeds waged war so often they expected it always.
"No? So you did not cause the storm?"
"It may be my husband, but we are too far from the city to feel the brunt of it."
"Your husband? The fish have such a thing?"
"Of course, you dolt."
"And he is causing the storm?"
"Yes, consider yourselves lucky that he cannot sense my soul in your ship."
"How is he causing the storm?"
"You know nothing of mer, do you? The king of the sea mourns, and you cannot tell?"
After he read that sentence, he looked up with shock. And promptly ran from the room without anything other than a wave of his hand.
And he left the door unlocked. She may be able to drag herself out, even if she has to risk drying. The rain may be enough, for now.
She crawled out of the room, scales scraping across the wood and trailing wet. She came upon a bunch of tiny floors, each higher than the last, and climbed out into the rain. It wasn't long now. The pirates were too busy to notice. All she had to do was get to the side of the ship.
Her arms were bleeding now, a bright blue. She made sure to hide in the shadows, but getting to the side was harder than she thought. She would have to throw something over the edge for her husband to find. Once it hit the water, soaked with her blood, he would know. He would find her. He would save her.
But she had nothing. No crown, no belt. The only thing she could think to use was her shells. The shells that covered her chest.
As a youth, the chest was bared to show reckless abandon. The mer who called the sailors wore nothing to cover themselves. It was to show pride, cunning. After all, they were only used for babes, so to show a sailor was to call them such.
And now, untying her purple brassiere, she was mimicking the old ones she once followed. This woman who birthed daughters, was ready to show her wildness again.
She watched as the purple mixed with the blue of her blood, and dipped over the side of the ship.
Now, she only had to wait for her husband to answer her call.
She waited for what seemed like days for the storm to show her husband in the rain. But she was caught. Thrown over the shoulder of a brute, she was carried back to her cell.
They didn't know that she had called for the king of the sea.
But neither did the king know.
She waited for three days, staring at the window. Watching the storm die. And letting her soul die with it. There was no chance now. She couldn't even get into the water, and her husband didn't get her plea.
She didn't sing. She didn't hum. She didn't even blink. She didn't even notice when the oil-eyed man returned with her food. She didn't notice until he dropped the platter.
It sounded like a drum.
And he sounded like a dying bird. She didn't know why. Was he pitying her? Was he angry at her failed escape? Was he making fun of her for thinking that she could get back to the water?
He threw something at her, and she was filled with rage. Until she looked at him, and noticed his shirt was off. Bipeds rarely got undressed, from her small understanding of the people. Then, she looked at the thing in her hands. It was a shirt, made of rough fabric.
Oh. Bipeds rarely got undressed. So her bare chest was, at the very least, an oddity to this man. She pulled the fabric that scratched over her hair, and that's when she got a glimpse of it. The red had faded, dulled. The water of the tub wasn't enough to calm it.
Her fire was flickering out. It was only a matter of time before she faded away completely.
A mermaid cannot stray from her oceans for very long. Because it will stretch to claim her to foam.