Four weeks passed with relative uneventfulness and Eric went about his days as before, growing ever more despondent when the princess did not return. He had told himself that it was easier this way, but it still left him deflated as sunset drew near and he was forced to once again return to land.

It was late February and a sharp wind whipped in off the surf, bringing about the freezing conditions which Eric dreaded year upon year. During the summer months he and his mother collected driftwood from the coves that were hidden from human civilisation, storing what they could find for when it was most needed. When the nights grew too cold for Eric to bear he would light a fire and sit with his knees drawn against chest and his hands tucked under his chin, drawing from the flames what warmth he could. He feared that some passing ship would venture to distinguish the source of the orange glow he had created, thus discovering his hiding place, but so far these fears had not come to fruition.

This year, winter storms battered the coast relentlessly and Eric felt he may never be free of the frigidity which seemed to have enveloped him. He paced and jumped instead of sleeping in a desperate attempt to warm himself when the wind made fire an impossibility, and would return home weary and lethargic.

Nastasya despaired that she could not do more for him, and it broke her heart to leave him during those long, harsh nights. Alone in the house, she sat awake, wracking her brain for a solution; only one came to mind.

When at last they were graced with a clear, still night and the tide withdrew far enough that the beach became accessible from the cave, she consulted Eric.

'You need warmer clothes, my love, for you health and for my peace of mind.'

Eric arched an eyebrow, wondering why his mother would point out the obvious after so many years.

Sensing his perplexity, Nastasya produced a small bag and held it out for his taking.

'They sell winter coats and boots in the village,' she proceeded, watching as Eric opened the bag and pulled from it a small silver disk, one of many. He paled slightly at her proposition, and she felt the need to quickly reassure him. 'I shan't force you to go, it's entirely up to you.'

Eric examined the disk, turning it over in his palm. His mother had explained to him the purpose of coins, how the humans paid a certain amount in exchange for items, and though he found them often amongst the shipwrecks, he had never actually used them.

He had been to the human village only once before, four years ago, not with a purpose but simply out of curiosity, and without telling his mother that he planned on doing so. It had been a short trip; he had barely arrived when a group of older men had come stumbling out of a nearby building—his mother had later suggested that it had most likely been a tavern. Eric recalled their ruddy faces and raucous laughter, and the way their wild eyes had fixed upon him. They had accused him of staring and started after him, and Eric had run back to the cave with faster pace than he had ever moved upon his legs before, or since. He'd sat shaking upon the sand for the remainder of the night and, when sunrise came at last the next morning, he had rushed home, allowing his emotions to overcome him only when he was once again safe in his mother's arms.

Since then he had not returned, and the thought of doing so made him somewhat uneasy.

'I'll think about it,' he muttered.

Nastasya cupped his cheek then and kissed it. 'Have care if you do, and remember that most humans are perfectly pleasant. I'll see you in the morning, goodnight my love.'

The two embraced and Nastasya grimaced at how cold Eric's hands felt against her skin. It had been five years since she had begun leaving him at night—being at the surface became uncomfortable for merfolk after too long—and still it became no easier to turn away, especially on nights like this.

Eric saw her hesitation. 'I'll be alright,' he reassured her, making an effort to suppress the shivers that wracked his body so as to ease her worry. He watched as she nodded once and, casting one last look back at him, disappeared beneath the waves with a powerful flick of her tail.

For Ariel the days lingered, or so it felt, and it seemed an eternity from one sunset to the next. Splendid as the palace was there was too little to keep the princess occupied, and she found herself often retreating to it's uppermost peaks and gazing out across the seabed for hours, despairing at what wonders she missed whilst cooped up here.

The conversation with her father had neither started nor ended well and the little mermaid found herself confined to the palace for one lunation. It seemed a nonsensical punishment, for it would not stop her from slipping away as soon as the sentence had passed; she was certain that her father knew this too, and worried at what measures he would put in place to prevent this eventuality.

'You know, it's not quite so bad here.' Ariel recognised Attina's voice immediately.

'Perhaps not for you,' she retorted, angling herself so that she now looked into the room rather that out of it, to where her eldest sister held herself with refined elegance, her hair set just so, unlike Ariel's free-flowing tresses, 'I can't sit in lessons all day like you can.'

Attina sighed. 'You might find that if you were to actually apply yourself to your studies they become less tedious,' she encouraged.

She didn't like to see Ariel so subdued, for she had always had such an energy about her, such a desire to explore and one which was so refreshing, if a little exhausting. It was an attribute that Attina admired in her younger sister, and she only wished that she had the sensibility to refrain from breaking the rules in the process.

'But the lessons don't interest me!' argued Ariel.

'Oh? And what does interest you?'

Ariel paused. She had never shared her love of the surface with any of her sisters, they were aware that she ventured their often, but they never discussed it further, and there was so much more to her fascination that they didn't know. Still, she so desperately wanted her sisters to understand that she found herself admitting to Attina what she had locked away for so long.

'Humans,' she replied with breathless wonder, 'the world above the surface.'

The colour drained quickly from Attina's face. 'How... how can you say that? Ariel after what happened—'

'I know,' Ariel interjected, 'but why don't we ever try talking to them?' She was aware that their mother had met her end at the hands of humans, that they were to blame for her death; but that had only been a handful and surely couldn't be representative of an entire species.

'They don't want to talk!' insisted Attina, 9nothing good ever came from the surface world.' Being older, she recalled the circumstances of their mother's death more accurately, the way the humans had first come to her, and she remembered Eric too. She couldn't picture his face, only that his hesitation—his existence—meant that she had been left motherless at the age of nine, and that Ariel's confessed interest of his world was an insult to the memory of the woman who had raised them.

A hard lump formed at the back of her throat and she turned away from her younger sister. 'Don't you ever say that again!' she choked, barely glancing back over her shoulder before she swiftly left the room, leaving only a trail of dissipating bubbles in her wake.

Ariel turned back to the window, her eyes glistening and her heart aching, afraid that she may never find somebody who understood.

It wasn't long before it became a necessity for Eric to take his mother's offer; he clutched the purse with numb fingers and navigated his way over the rocks to the beach, it's sands painted black by the night. Never before had it been an option to go and purchase items of warmth, but Eric couldn't pass by the opportunity now that it was here, no matter how many years he had done without.

The horizon swallowed the sun quickly during the winter, and his mother had assured him that the shops would remain open for several hours more. Quite how she knew this was beyond Eric, for there was only so much you could learn from the books amongst the shipwrecks; books didn't last long underwater.

The sand was cold beneath his feet as he passed by the sloping marble steps of the palace and, continuing another two hundred yards or so, approached the many flickering lamps of the coastal town.

Soon the babble of conversation toppled the rolling waves, and Eric stepped over the low wall which divided the town and beach. The sand beneath him was replaced by less forgiving cobblestone; to his right stretched a pleasant looking promenade, and in front of him a busy street, lined with shops selling all manner of things. He took a deep breath and took in all that around him. Although dark, many of the amenities appeared open and the townspeople remained active, completing errands on their way home or going out for the evening. All were protected against the cold and, with his bare feet and thin handmade shirt, Eric realised that he not only felt but also looked painfully out of place, as he forced his legs to carry him forward.

In every window, an orange glow belayed the warmth within, and it took much of Eric's willpower not to abandon his search and dart through the nearest door to thaw his frozen extremities instead.

Passing by a florist, a bakery and the tavern which had been the cause of his apprehension, the eighteen year old came across a shop window which displayed a selection of winter attire and, once ascertaining that the shop was still open, Eric stepped inside, a small bell at the threshold announcing his entrance.

It was a small shop, with clothing both folded atop shelves and hanging from wooden frames, the spaces between which lead to a counter and, to it's left as Eric saw it, a roaring fireplace and a rug before it, upon which two children—a girl and a boy—sat reading, looking up only briefly when their seclusion was disturbed.

'Mama!' hollered the girl, the older of the two.

Eric feared that he had made some mistake, that was not welcome here, but it was a fear quickly doused when a woman appeared in the open doorway behind the counter with a kindly smile on her face.

'Hanna there's no need to shout,' she berated softly, directing her glance first to the children before turning towards Eric. 'Good evening,' she greeted, 'feel free to take a look around.'

Eric returned her smile and replied with a single nod, scouring the racks for something he could use and had enough money to buy. It must have take his mother years to accumulate such a collection, for many of the coins they found were unrecognisable, defaced by years of submersion and therefore useless. Again he remained oblivious as to how his mother had learnt about human currency to such an extent, perhaps he would approach the subject when he returned home tomorrow.

He wandered the shop as he thought, until a line of long cloaks caught his eye, the thick fabric promising not only warmth but comfort too.

'Aren't you cold?'

His silent musings were broken then, and he turned to see Freja—who he presumed to be the shopkeeper—regarding him with concern, her eyes travelling the length of his body before meeting his eyes.

'A little,' Eric admitted, shivering visibly despite his best efforts.

'Won't you come and warm yourself by the fire?' she offered, motioning to her right.

Eric accepted and soon found his skin warmed pleasantly by the flames, as he stood afore the hearth with outstretched palms. Freja disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a cup, above which furled ribbons of steam, which she held out to her new guest.

Taking the cup in both hands, Eric thanked her, surprised somewhat by this woman's hospitality towards a stranger, as he was, and grateful that his second experience with humans differed so dramatically from his first.

The peace was soon broken though, the door flying open and slamming against the wall, causing Eric to flinch and snap his head in the direction of the clamour.

At the door stood an ageing man, his hair and beard a faded amber and his eyes unfocused as he staggered into the shop, appearing flushed despite the chill outside.

'Uncle Nikolaj!' The children who had remained seated until now bounced up at his arrival, though Freja merely folded her arms.

'My uncle,' she said, by way of explanation, seeming to sense Eric's puzzlement.

'And who the hell is this?' slurred Nikolaj as he approached, 'another of your strays Freja?'

Eric introduced himself and, to his utmost bewilderment, Nikolaj chortled, bending forward in an unsteady and overdramatic bow.

'Your Majesty!' he declared, causing Freja to shoot him a withering look.

'Uncle, will you tell us a story?' begged Hanna, leaving Eric to wonder what on earth had just happened.

'Dear, I'm not sure Uncle Nikolaj is in any fit state to be telling stories,' Freja interjected, scooping her son into her arms.

It seemed though that Nikolaj disagreed, for his lips curled into a lopsided smile. 'I've got a story for you,' he insisted, 'it's about a mermaid.'

Any existing thought Eric had was halted in that moment. How could this man know anything about merpeople given how reclusive they were? His mother had told him that many humans thought them a myth, if so then this man's story would be just that. Still, the eighteen year old felt suddenly uneasy.

'Your stories are always about mermaids,' stated Hanna.

'Bah! Bored of them are you? You wouldn't be if you'd met one, you'd never stop talking about her, about how beautiful she was.' Nikolaj leaned back against the wall, he gaze now upon the ceiling. 'I knew one once, you should've seen her,' he sighed, reminiscing now. 'Her spirit shon with the brilliance of a thousand stars... my Nastasya.'

Eric blanched.

'Oh pay no mind to him, he's been drinking. Again!' said Freja offhandedly, though directing the final word solely to her uncle.

'A man my age can drink as he pleases,' Nikolaj protested, stumbling and causing the children to giggle.

Eric was deaf to this exchange, his mind reeling with such dizzying speed that he had to reach out and grasp the mantelpiece to keep himself upright. The little shop seemed to shrink, the space no longer big enough to hold the cascade of half-formed thoughts and questions which pulsed and flitted through Eric's mind.

'Are you alright?'

No answer came, for Eric found that his ability to form words had been taken from him, so too the very breath from his lungs. He needed air.

The reason for him being here was long forgotten as Eric hurried from the shop, stumbling back out into the ever deepening night and taking off in the direction of the beach. He vaulted the wall and continued for perhaps twenty paces before falling to his knees, his legs unable to support the weight of this new revelation.

He focused on filling his lungs, the definite chill a welcome change from the uncertainty which now swelled within him. Hands trembling, he looked out to where the pale moon lay shattered across the surface of the ocean, it's fragments dancing atop the waves. Often did he ponder to which of these two worlds he belonged; was it both or neither? Certainly it felt like neither, but his home and his mother were beneath the waves and if it's true that home is where the heart is then that was where his heart lay. However, having legs and standing upon his own two feet felt most natural to him, and there were times during the day when he was struck with the fear that he would drown, though admittedly with less frequency nowadays. Still, when the sun rose in the morning and he slipped back beneath the waves, he had to remind himself that it was needless to hold his breath.

The rational part of Eric's mind reasoned that his mother couldn't be the only Nastasya, and that this Nikolaj—if his story were even true—could have met another bearing the same name. The less rational part, and the one which rang loudest, told him that his mother was keeping something from him, something of great importance, and it was his intention to find out what.