Thank you so much to author E.A. Noble for sharing this incredible short story exclusively with our Left Unread community! Give it a read and, if you enjoy it, please take a moment to go follow her on social media and to buy her other work, including WHEN BLOOD MEETS EARTH and SUPERSIZED BUBBLEGUM.
Divine, Remember You're is a dark-fiction/horror short story about a mermaid and her fight to reclaim her voice.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: enslavement, gore, violence, blood, child abuse
Divine, Remember You’re
by E.A. Noble
di·vine
[dəˈvīn]
ADJECTIVE
1. of, from, or like God or a god:
The mermaids sang under the waning crescent moon in the black sea as the woman lingered at the edge of the seashore grasping her scarred neck. The waves receded. Colorful scales slapped across the surface of the water. Fleeting figures played tricks as if they were figments of the woman’s imagination.
“Sing,” they beckoned. Their song rose higher than the whoosh of summer wind, but quiet as a whispered secret.
The woman gulped hard, her throat flexing as she attempted to speak. Her voice croaked, hoarse and scratchy, unlike the angelic music of the mermaids before her. No song had crossed her lips since she became a prisoner of the Feeder, the vampiric shapeshifter who drank the blood of merfolk.
“Sing,” the mermaids called, but even if the woman remembered how, she wouldn’t dare answer.
The Feeder didn’t like singing.
Or laughter.
Or sound.
Even rats coward silently in cobweb corners when the Feeder drew close.
The woman shuffled toward the edge of the sealine as the waves rushed onto the sand.
“Sing. Sing, Divine. Remember you’re.” Their voices blended together in an ethereal lullaby. “Remember, you’re.”
She could barely understand their language, her language, but it didn’t stop the alluring pull their words had on her heart to return home under the vast encompassing sea. The woman edged closer to the waters, inhaling the salty aroma of seaweed. A gust of wind blew tight coils of hair across her face. Her white dress billowed, her feet inching her toward the icy enchantment of the deep.
“Remember, you’re.” Their song faded, but the woman wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
She reached for the sea, hand outstretched. Her pulse quickened. Take me with you. She screamed in her head. Silver scales disappeared into the depths of the moon-lit waters. The shore was once again silent. There were two ways on and off this tiny island: ships or fins. The Feeder controlled both.
The woman’s shoulders slumped. Her tears escaped as she stared out into the enormous marine, careful not to get a single toe wet.
A foghorn blasted in the distance, shocking the woman with intense urgency.
Pirates were coming.
The woman fixed her gaze on the mountaintop. The white castle clung to the cliffs, its walls stark against the jagged rock and brooding evergreens. The exterior should have shimmered under the moonlight, but instead the castle looked bone-bleached and angry. In its highest tower, a lighthouse’s beam swept across the sea, luring the ship to shore.
The woman took off towards the castle, careful to avoid the slippery stones littering the seashore. She had to return before the Feeder realized she was gone.
It might have been too late.
She was foolish, a disobedient servant who clung on to the hope of home, to the sea, to finally escape the Feeder’s clutch. She braced herself as she climbed the rocky path, ripping her dress on the sharp rocks. The route twisted, looping, up, up, and up leading to her living tomb.
The woman snuck into the castle through the kitchen’s rear entrance. She dodged the bundles of long-dried herbs dangling like brittle bats and rounded the stone wall, where a hearth of blue flames licked the belly of a cast-iron cauldron simmering with oxtail soup.
Voices echoed from the foyer and the woman smashed herself against the wall as she made her way to the front to spy on the newcomers. The Feeder welcomed the pirates in as they carried a large transportation crate into the living room. Once the box settled, all but one left. The last pirate, hair of raven, skin of bronze, handed the Feeder a clipboard and pen.
The Feeder had no definite form or preferred gender, but when the pirates came, the Feeder grew taller, shoulders squared, jaw bearded, and muscles tight. It had always walked like the world unfolded underneath its feet. Signing the papers and returning the clipboard, it gave a hypnotizing smile to the man. The corners of its mouth twisting in a semicircle. It’s gums too black; it’s teeth too big, the grin far too wide as if it was mimicking a version of what it thought a smile should be.
“We are leaving with the morning light if you want someone to keep you company for the night,” the raven-haired pirate said, mesmerized by the Feeder. His body swayed into the Feeder as if caught in its orbit.
The Feeder ran a pointed nail down the pirate’s cheek, pulling him in close. The man melted into its arms. A long red tongue parted the Feeder’s lips as it curled around the man’s earlobe.
“Next time,” It hummed, slurping its tongue into its mouth. The pirate blinked a few times as if coming out of sleep. He fumbled the clipboard then rushed out the door.
The woman had turned to leave when the Feeder called out.
“Woman, I have a gift for you.”
She paused; feet frozen in step. It had never brought her a gift before.
“Do you want to see?” It said.
The woman rubbed the back of her neck, her thumb grazed the keloid at the base. Hesitantly, she succumbed to the Feeder wishes and walked to greet it. It did not morph into its natural featureless form, which was all milky cream from its head to its slimy feet, nor did it mention the smell of the sea, or ask where the woman had been. The woman stood before the Feeder with a bowed head.
“Naughty, naughty, naughty.” It sniffed the woman’s hair. Drawing in her scent like a cat. Razor-sharp teeth gently met her neck. She stiffened, as teeth pierced her skin. She embraced herself for the feeding, the draining of energy, the wobbly knees, the nausea that arises after it was done with her. Leaving her a hollowed-out seashell without the echoes of the sea.
Soundless.
The Feeder lifted the woman’s chin instead. Withdrawing its teeth. Its black irises made the fine hairs on her arm rise. White skin, buried underneath its human mask, slipped revealing a hint of its true form. As if giving its hunger a second thought, it stepped away from the woman and to the shipping crate. Without any tools, it ripped open the lid, tossing the wood to the base of the winding stairs.
“Look.” The Feeder motioned her to step forward.
Slowly, she shuffled to the box to peer inside. Laying wrapped in blankets, mouth gagged shut, was a silvered-eyed child. The same silver eyes as hers.
The child, instantly making a connection, lept toward the woman. The woman stumbled from the child’s grasp. Her wide-eyes flicked from the child to the sharp-teeth grinning feeder.
The woman knew that this could have been a possibility. Was this not what she had been dreaming all this time for? A way out, to flee, escape? Every day a bit more of her life drained, her luscious shimmering black hair turned gray, her blemish free skin, cracked from years of not bathing in the moonlight, and her voice, an angelic siren, she longed to hear again.
The Feeder wrapped a large hand around the child’s neck.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” It asked.
Freedom.
To return to the sea in which her people grew fins and learned how to swim. Back to dwell in the ocean’s deep with those who were ejected from ships long ago. Freedom to bathe in the salted sea, far, far away from this place.
“Just like your predecessor, you’re at the end of your life force. I’m a merciful master and just as I gave the one before you the option, I will now give you the same. Let me turn you into my bride, so I may feed from you for all eternity or you can train another to take your place.” The Feeder gestured to the child. “Freedom at the sacrifice of another.”
The woman’s fingers crept to her neck. She studied the child. The child was the same age she had been when pirates came with their nets, trapping her as she attempted to escape. Back when her singing voice was too weak to lull the wicked men to sleep. She wasn’t supposed to be out that day, her mother had warned her about the wooden-whale-bellied-beast that bobbed on the sea’s surface. She was eight, curious and adventure seeking. Men could not be that bad, not as mother made it seem.
She was wrong, they were much worse.
The pirates ensnared her, threw her into a crate, and before she knew it, the lid was cracked open, and she was looking up into the face of the Feeder, and the woman who came before her.
The Feeder yanked the child almost out of the box. “Your choice. Which shall it be?”
The child shivered, their body glossy from the marine. Rainbow scales clung to their skin. This meant they hadn’t been away from the sea for too long.
There was still time.
Something both the woman and the child were running out of. The woman retreated within herself, unable to make the choice. Her nails clawed her neck. The salty taste of the sea sat on her tongue. Everything she had wanted was now presented to her, but she wasn’t ready to decide.
“You either give me an answer or I’ll take you both.” The Feeder’s grip tightened around the child, causing them to wince and whimper.
The woman needed more time, maybe a day or so. She ran a hundred scenarios through her mind and all of them led back to the sea. Was this not what the merwomen did before her? At the end of their lives, the Feeder gave them the same choice, and they all had chosen for another to take their place so they could live out the rest of their days in the sea. This would be no different.
"Fine," the Feeder lifted the child from the box, their legs still fresh and untested. "I’ll have you both."
The woman waved frantically while shaking her head.
"No?" The Feeder threw the squirming child over its shoulders. Its dark eyes appraising her.
The woman pressed her back against the stone-cold wall.
I will teach. The woman signed.
Its long red tongue licked its lips.
"Tragic. And I thought you were different. The cycle continues." The Feeder stepped forward, dropping the child at the woman's feet. "Your blood was sweet." It curled a finger around her jaw. "But I can find sweeter." It raised a sharp, white nail, long as a needle, and pressed it to the back of the child’s neck. There was a soft hiss, then a sickening sizzle as flesh burned beneath it. Smoke coiled into the air releasing a smell like scorched coral. The child thrashed, muffled screams tearing through the gag, until their small body seized—then collapsed in a limp heap at the woman’s feet. Where the nail had touched, a cursed mark glowed faintly beneath the skin. No ocean would welcome this child again. No tide would rise to meet them. From this moment forward, the sea would be a stranger.
The Feeder, their only friend.
It took 120 days before the woman’s burned mark healed. The scarr would have healed sooner, if she had accepted her fate the moment the fisher’s net consumed her.
The woman held her breath and counted from one hundred backwards as the Feeder morphed before her, turning its body into a curvy woman with dark fluffy hair, and even darker skin. But the eyes, those black glossy eyes that looked like empty holes, remained the same.
"Your body calls to this form," It said, kissing the woman on the lips.
Seventy-eight, seventy-seven, seventy-six.
The woman forced her eyes shut, feeling the heavy breaths of the Feeder on her neck until it was gone. When she opened her eyes, the Feeder was at the top of the wrought iron railing. It had morphed into a different body, golden-hair and deathly pale, wearing a black dress with a lace veil cast over its eyes. "You have until the next full moon to prepare the merchild." It said, disappearing down a candle lit hall.
Sit still.
The woman held the child’s leg tight to the kitchen chair. They wouldn't stop screaming. She had no choice but to bind their lips shut with tape. She could not risk the child's song escaping and stirring the monster to change into its true form. The woman had only seen the terror once, and that was more than enough.
Sit still.
The woman squeezed the child’s thighs, their silver eyes pleaded for the woman to have mercy. But the woman could not think of mercy, she could only think of herself. She didn’t know how long it had been since her youth. A hundred years could have passed, and the woman would have been none the wiser. Time morphed differently in the house; the clocks seemed to always stay the same. The mirrors would show her youthful and beautiful one day, then after the feeding, old and wrinkled the next.
She observed the child. A shimmer of rainbow scales ran along their neck, down their back and around their thighs. With each day that passed, their scales fell off slowly, leaving a trail of shattered rainbows amongst the darkened hardwood floors. The woman sat on her hind legs, absorbed by a memory of the time before. She could almost hear her mother’s song, a call to…to…
She could not remember. Her forehead wrinkled into a frown as she tried her hardest to remember. What did her mother look like? What of her father? What was her name before she was snatched from the sea, thrown into a crate, and stolen from her home? Could she remember her song, or was it lost for good?
A sharp kick to the head knocked the woman onto her side. A burst of stars shimmered behind her eyelids before she was forced to reality. When she tried to get up, a wooden stick slammed over her head. The woman threw out her hands to block her face as the relentless beating continued.
She went limp.
Silver blood seeped from a gashing cut above her brow.
The child’s heavy breaths filled her ears, followed by clatter, feet slapping on tile, and then the back door swinging open.
The kitchen tilted, splitting into two. She crawled to the table and used it as support to stumble to her feet. There was a freshly sharpened knife on the butcher block, and the woman thought if the child knew how the knife was used, she would have been in worse condition.
She staggered to the open door and out into the daylight. The sun hurt her eyes and the whiff of salt carried in the wind slapped her nose.
Her forehead stung.
She patted silver blood from her brow with her apron. Her vision stabilized as she surveyed the land. The child, in the distance, headed to the mountain’s cliff where a rocky path unfolded towards the sea. Despite the thrumming headache and unstable feet, she had to stop the child before they touched the water or both their lives would be forfeit.
No. No! She wanted to scream. No! The woman tottered.
She hiked up her skirts and went running after the child. They must not touch the water!
Do not touch the water!
The woman opened her mouth to warn the child, but no sound came out. Her long legs stretched wide, her feet kicking up dust behind her. Quickly and more surely, she ran until her breath became labored and her chest burned.
Do not touch the water!
Hope diminished every second the child drew closer to the sea. Down the winding path the woman went, closing the distance. She had years to learn how to walk on two feet; the child did not. Nor did the child know the rocky path of the mountain like she did. The child touched the hot sandy beach, and the woman was right behind them. She stretched her arm out, reaching for the child, but the fabric of their shirt slipped like water between her fingers.
The woman tripped on her long gown but recovered. Right as the waves rushed upon the sand, the woman grabbed the child by their locs, pulling them backwards onto the rocks.
The child yelped in shock. Useless arms held up in defense to protect themselves, but it wasn’t her the child needed to fear. The woman peered at the child. Her silver blood stained their shirt, but overall, the merchild wasn't hurt.
You! She pointed at them. Don’t go in the sea! She wagged a finger and shook her head, then pointed at the waters.
Waves crashed against the rocks behind her. The child's brow creased in confusion, their chest ballooning and caving from breathing hard. The woman pushed her hair to the side and revealed two chained circles on the base of her neck. The same sigil that was newly bound to the child.
She hiked up her skirt, beckoning for the child to watch and learn what could have happened if they had gone farther. She eased towards the sapphire waters and dipped one toe in. The tattoo glowed white. Excruciating pain shot through her spine, making her stiff and fall backwards like a wooden plank. She gasped for air as electric waves bounced off of every cell in her body. The woman was a fish flopping out of water struggling to breathe. Once the pain subsided and she could move, she dragged herself backwards onto the sand, away from the waters, trembling. Silver droplets plopped on her cheeks. She aimed a shaky pointer finger toward the sea, back to the child, and shook it.
The child finally understood. To enter the sea meant death. The child was now a prisoner of the Feeder. Seeing the merchild curl into a ball and weep hurt worse than the shock from the sea. The woman was so close, she couldn’t give in now. The full moon was roughly three weeks away. She could not allow emotions to make her weak. Once free, this burden, guilt, sin—would be forgotten.
Days passed, and the woman taught the child how to cook, clean, and maintain the castle. She taught them where to hide when the Feeder was on the loose. She taught the child to never enter the room with the red door. When the child asked why, the woman signed, my teacher taught it to me and she learned it from her teacher and so on and so forth, and now I teach it to you.
Most importantly, the woman taught the child to quiet their voice. Never sing, never laugh, never make a sound or else the monster would come out.
This morning, when the woman rose, the walls trembled. She opened the windows, but no matter which direction they faced, the sunrays refused to spill inside. The castle remained dim, sulking in its own shadow. Still, she made her way to the child’s room. Despite the gloom—despite the mourning portraits and the drooping plants—the castle would not clean itself. The child still had duties to fulfill.
When the woman stripped the quilts from the merchild, that was when she saw it. What made this day different for them both. The child sat naked in bed staring at the last rainbow-colored scale that had peeled from their body.
The child grieved.
The woman held them close, muffling their whimpers into her bosom. She remembered the day the last of her gold scales peeled. There was no one to comfort her, to wipe her tears; she had to get up and get to work before her trainer beat her. So, the woman hid her one golden scale, and forced herself to forget, until now.
The woman’s smile grew wide as she thought of an idea to soothe the child. She quickly got them ready; this day was just beginning. She plucked the scale from the child’s palm and led them to the kitchens. The woman placed the child’s scale on the counter, then took out varnish. Her heart skipped a beat as she danced throughout the kitchen, making the child laugh. She placed a vertical finger to her lips to remind the child to be quiet, that was the deal.
The child laughed low, their silver eyes bouncing as the woman continued her whirl through the room. The woman remembered where she hid her last scale. Pushing the old counter out with a grunt, she dug for an opening in the worn-out hardwood. She pulled out a box that was small in her adult palms. She opened the lid, and there, dried out, but still holding together, was a single golden scale. The edges had faded into a dusty orange yellow, but the center remained brightly gold.
A song played in her head as she held the box close to her heart. The child scooted from the kitchen table and walked over to the woman with curiosity. The woman showed the merchild the remains of her golden scale alongside theirs, then she took the scales to the sink to clean.
She taught the child how to lacquer the scale properly, sealing the youth in place. Once dried, she punched a hole into the scales and added a string which she then tied around the child’s neck. Together they huddled close in the kitchen, holding the last of their scales in their hands.
The woman closed her eyes, the whoosh of the sea calling to her heart. She remembered floating on the surface of the waves, as the moon kissed her skin with a soft glow. She’d sang as the seagulls cawed and fish nibbled her tickle spot. The night was peaceful; the water was cool; and all things were as it should have been, engulfed in the universe and adored by the gods.
The child patted the woman on the arm, dispelling her memory. They grabbed their throat and pointed to the woman’s neck. That’s when she noticed she was humming. The woman slapped a palm over her mouth and her eyes searched for the Feeder. The woman grabbed the child and took off running out the back door. They did not stop until they entered the gardens and fell amongst the Canary Island geraniums. Fear turned into laughter.
The woman placed both hands over her mouth to contain the laugh that welled inside her. The child rolled among the flowers, their silver-eyes glinting in the sun. They were far enough from the castle so the Feeder wouldn’t hear them. She allowed herself this small moment, surprised at the chuckles escaping her throat. How long had it been since she last heard her voice? Since she hummed or ran across the field of flowers? She pulled the child closer, swooping their locs out of their face, and cupping their cheek into her palm.
How long had she gone without love?
The child opened their mouth, and their song trickled out. When they sang, it was like baby birds learning to take flight. It was the wind blowing through hair on a beautiful summer day. It was the crickets playing a symphony on a dreamy summer night. Their song was swirling art and boundless love; it was faith.
Forceful footsteps crunched heavily through the field of purple flowers. The woman yanked the child into her arms. A pirate—the same raven-haired, bronze skinned seaman that brought the child in the crate—appeared in front of them.
Tears flowed down his cheeks onto his dirty clothes.
“Please, don’t stop. Sing some more.” The pirate stepped closer.
These men docked when the sun went down, never during the day. What was this one doing here? There hadn’t been a ship sighting in weeks. Did he never return to his ship? Has he been here on the island the entire time? The child shook in the woman’s arms and grabbed hold of her clothing. The woman scanned the field. The purple flowers swayed toward the blowing wind. The white castle was far in the distance, its windows shaping into piercing eyes.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I just couldn’t resist.” He stepped closer. “If you can sing for me, I promise when the ship comes back, I will take you. Both of you.” He glanced from the child to the woman. “I can get you out of here.”
The child peeked up at her, but the woman continued to ease backwards with the merchild. The child slipped from her arms, and she grabbed at their clothes, hair, skin, nails digging into their arms. The woman glanced from the man to the looming castle behind him and shook her head. What he was proposing was preposterous.
The Feeder would know; the Feeder always knows.
The deliverer took out a corked cylinder with black liquid. “See, this is its blood. It’s poisonous to all other things except your kind. Look.” The deliverer unscrewed the lid and poured the thick black liquid out onto the flowers. Instantly, the flowers burned away until it was nothing but smoke and ash.
The woman’s breathing slowed. The child took a step toward the seaman.
“I know the secret that the creature is keeping from you. The reason it needs your blood to survive. Without it, the monster grows weak, vulnerable. It is your existence that sustains it.”
“How do you know?” The child spoke. The woman panicked, pulling the child back and covering their mouth with both of her hands.
The deliverer rolled his sleeve up. Tiny red scales like freckles decorated his skin. “My mother escaped here. As long as she didn’t touch the great waters, she could travel far on ships, just like mine. She had me years later thinking she could ease the pain of loneliness, but I was not enough to replace her constant pull to the sea, which she could not go. I eventually lost my mother to her mind, and I vowed to get revenge. My blood runs red; therefore, I’m more human than ocean and cannot live in the sea.” The man shuffled forward. “I’ve studied these monsters my entire life. And I’ve found out what can defeat them. It’s your song. Your song will save you in the end.” He held out his hand. “If you don’t believe me, open the red door,” he said. His dusty dark hair dropped into his face. “Join me and we all can be free.”
The child wiggled their way out of the woman’s grasp to join the man, but the woman’s feet would not move. Her nails dug into her neck as she processed the information. The keloid thrummed. No one could leave this mountain unless the Feeder permitted them to do so. What was the point of leaving if she could not enter the great waters?
No.
The woman shook her head. She could not join him, not if it meant never returning to the sea.
“Perfect. I knew you wouldn’t betray me.”
The wind blew the opposite way, forcing the flowers to bend backwards and become uprooted. Fingers crept up from the woman’s waist until they slid over her shoulders. The child and the pirate stumbled back. Their eyes bucked in fear.
The Feeder is here.
Its body cracked like breaking branches as it grew in height, its fingers stretched out like claws. It pushed past her, stomping toward the seaman and the child, under its feet, the flowers collapsed and died. The Feeder clicked its tongue as it launched at the man. He tried to run, but the Feeder’s arm extended faster than the man could move. Milky white hands wrapped around the man’s throat.
The woman frantically waved for the child to come to her. The child took off running to the woman. The woman wrapped the child in her arms, shielding them from the wrath of the Feeder.
“I knew who you were and what you wanted the moment your foot touched my soil,” the Feeder said, bringing the man off his feet and dangling him in the air. “Your mother didn’t escape. I let her go. I wanted to watch her descend into madness. Her void of emptiness is more delectable than anyone else that has come before her. Your mother’s misery was fat and ready to be eaten.”
The seaman clawed at the Feeder’s oozing pus-dripping body.
The Feeder pulled the man in close and whispered, “I devoured her despair and fed upon her grief.”
The man stiffened and turned his gaze to the woman. His jaw set, brow furrowed, and his eyes held a furious resolve. He nodded his head, then returned his gaze to the Feeder, and sang…
Out poured a song like burst roots from planted seeds, cracking eggs giving way to new life, a caterpillar splitting open from its shell. His song was hope.
The Feeder’s body shook, the oozing droplets plopped to the ground destroying the bed of flowers. Its mouth opened, and a scream let out, causing pain to rip through the woman’s head. She and the child dropped to their knees, their sigil scorching their necks.
As the man’s song grew strained, the Feeder shrunk in height. Then the clouds rolled in, lightning snapping across the sky. The Feeder constricted the seaman's neck until it crunched, snuffing out his song. The man went limp into the Feeder's hand as it grew ten times in size. Its mouth loosened until it was big enough to stuff the man inside. The Feeder swallowed him whole, shoes, clothes, and song.
The child cried out, their voice too close to a high soprano note. The woman threw her hands over the child’s mouth, but it was too late. The Feeder stomped over, its body breaking in jagged, sharp motions. It yanked up the child by their mouth. The Feeder’s red tongue jolted out, wrapping around the child, pulling them into its mouth.
“Me!” the woman croaked out, silver tears streaking to the ground. “Me!” Her voice rasped with fear. “I will train,” she said, the only thing that would stop the Feeder from swallowing the child whole.
The Feeder’s tongue unwrapped around the merchild, dropping them to the soil. The creature morphed into a beautiful brown skin woman, its dark iris shrinking to show the whites. It was naked as it glided over to the woman and embraced her.
“Be my eternal. Let me feed from you, forever.” It said, “And there will never be another. The child will go free.” It held the woman close to its face, smoothing out her hair. The woman looked on at the child and realized her fatal mistake. She allowed herself to love and love does not keep anyone safe.
I will train the child to take my place. She signed, her throat was too raw to speak.
“Very well.” Two fangs extended from its gums and sank into the woman’s neck. The woman’s eyes rolled as her remaining black hair turned gray.
The woman slapped the child across the face.
Again. She signed. Wash it again.
The child clung to their swollen cheek. They scrambled to the kitchen sink to rewash a glass cup with a tiny smudge.
The woman pinched the bridge of her nose, then massaged her temples. She couldn’t afford to mess up now. She had grown too close to the child, allowing them to make mistakes to make their transition easy.
No one had made her transition easy. She had to work sun up until sundown, keep her head bowed, and learn to be quiet. The child would have to do the same.
They held out the glass with shaky fingers. The woman snatched the glass and examined it closely. One tiny little dot. It was easy to wipe it off, but what would that teach the child? One little mistake, a single tiny error, could be all it took for the Feeder to end their life.
The child must work harder. The woman raised her hand; the child flinched and jerked away. A few seconds passed by and no slap came. The merchild eased their shoulders to peer at the woman and down came the woman's hand across the child's cheek.
Again, the woman shoved the glass into the child's hand.
Trust me, this hurts me more to do this, but how else can I prepare you for the Feeder? The woman didn't explain this to the child, she only glared as the child washed the glass for the fourth time.
Later, the woman found herself at the seashore. She closed her shawl over her shoulders and buried her toes in the sand. The mermaids had returned. Their song carried on the light wind.
“Remember you’re,” they sang, over and over again. “Divine, remember you’re.”
The woman shouted a soundless scream; the veins bulging from her neck.
What are you saying! What are you trying to tell me? Her entire body shook.
“Remember you’re,” they sang.
The woman’s tears fell as she inched toward the last parts of dried sand. If you loved me. If you really loved me, then why didn’t any of you forsake the sea for me? I trusted you to guard me. I would lay awake at night hoping you would come for me. Why—why didn’t you save me? Was I not worth saving? Protecting, fighting for? Why—why was I so unworthy of your love?
The songs halted, and all she heard as a response was the crashing of waves against rocks. The woman clung onto her last golden scale. This was the only thing she had left of herself. She glanced toward the sky. Tomorrow will be the Full Moon.
If only the woman’s heart didn’t betray her daily. If only she didn’t long to rejoin the many waters and bask in the gentle glow of the moonlight, then maybe she would be strong enough to save the child. But the only thing she could do was teach them how to survive. Just like she had been doing since she arrived. The woman needed to teach the child to never long for the sea.
The next night arrived, and the woman wandered the halls in a dream-like state. She inspected every room except for the one with the red door. Instead, she stood in front of it and placed her forehead on the faded paint. Gripping the knob, she took a breath and almost popped open the door until she heard a hum coming from the child’s bathroom. Anger shot through the woman. How many times did she have to warn the child not to sing! Not to even make a noise or they would face the wrath of the Feeder? Did the child not remember what happened to the pirate? How could they still find the courage to hum a tune without the paralyzing fear of the monster lurking in the next room?
The woman sped to the bathroom, bursting into the door. She glanced at the child and almost stumbled backwards. Alongside the child’s back were newly grown rainbow scales. But how? Once her golden scales had fallen, they never returned.
Fury blinded the woman. No, not fury, jealousy. She rushed over to the child, grabbed them by their locs, and forced them underneath the water.
The child’s legs flailed; their silver eyes begged the woman to stop. Their screams turned to burbles. It was not the water the child was afraid of; it was the woman. Had she become a monster? The child’s body stopped flopping, and their eyes slowly closed. The woman, her silver tears pouring into the tub, saw the child’s face morph into her own.
You must learn how to hate the water. The woman screamed in her mind. Forget how to swim. Forget you ever could grow fins. Forget the moonlight and how it dances on the dark waters and the sun’s kiss upon your skin. Forget the sea creatures and all those that dwell in the depths of the sea. Forget it all! Forget you ever were magical. Forget. it. All!
The child’s hand slipped from around the woman’s wrist and plopped into the water. The woman slid backwards away from the tub. What had she done? What had come over her?
She sobbed, her voice clumping and cracking in muffled chokes and groans. She wrapped her hand around her neck and counted backwards, ninety-nine, ninety-eight. The room was silent. Ninety, eighty-nine, eighty-eight. The water had stopped sloshing and had settled. Seventy-six, seventy-five, seventy-four. Her heart slowed. Fifty-two, fifty-one, fifty. There was movement. Twenty-six, twenty-five, twenty-four. Then batches of coughs. Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen. A shift in the water. Ten, nine, eight. A splash on the tile floor followed by tiny steps. Three, two, one.
The woman turned to see the child coated in rainbow scales. Their neck had tiny slits, and their ears had perfect rainbow points. The woman beheld the child in awe, her heart swelled as she gazed upon a beauty she would never be. The child shimmered and glowed, then fell to their knees. Their scales falling rapidly to the floor in a blink of an eye, their ears rounded, neck smoothed over, and the child was naked and trembling. Only a single encapsulated rainbow scale hung around the child’s neck. The woman scooted over to reach out and comfort them, but the child drew back, yanking their knees to their chest, their body shaking.
Was this not what the woman had wanted? To prepare them for the harsh castle that they had entered. Then why did the woman’s heart drop into the bowels of her stomach when the child flinched away? And sadness overwhelmed her when she peered into their silver eyes that were now dull and distant?
It was too late for both her and the merchild. Time had run out. Even if she could change or decide differently, the child would never let her touch them again. What had she done? The grandfather clock struck. It's bell rang its warning through the empty corridors. It was time to face the Feeder.
The child didn’t make a peep as the woman dressed them to present to the Feeder. They simply nodded and did what was told robotic, compliant. The woman guided the child down the corridor to the Feeder’s chambers and knocked.
“Come in,” the Feeder said, with a light joy in its tone.
The woman opened the door to reveal a stark white room. From the furniture to the floors, the ceiling and the walls were minimal in design. The Feeder stepped forth, morphing into a small child.
“Let’s play,” said the Feeder, its sharp teeth making way for a smile that reached the creature's onyx eyes.
The child hesitated. They searched the room before turning to glance at the woman. In a swift motion, the child unlatched the necklace and handed the rainbow scale to the woman. She took it, balling the scale into her fist. The child bit their lower lip shut, straightened their shoulders, turned back to the Feeder and took its hand. The Feeder's teeth elongated; its red tongue flickered in excitement.
The woman stepped out of the door, slowly closing it, as the Feeder chased the child in a game of tag.
“You’re it!”
She heard the Feeder laugh.
Out in the hall, the woman passed by the red door. The Feeder preoccupied; the woman was less concerned about being caught. She placed her hand on the doorknob. It was unlocked. The woman rushed inside quickly before her nerves overtook her. She gently closed the door behind her and waited, chest heaving, as if any minute now, the Feeder would show up and punish her.
Torch lights flickered on. She was presented with a monochrome black room. There were candles lit in between hundreds of holographic portraits lining the wall. The woman gradually made her way down, studying each image, some still frame and others moving pictures. Each one told a story with one line or word underneath.
The woman paused at a portrait of a man, perpetually falling from the mountain cliff as a veiled figure stood at the edge. She recognized the veil figure instantly; it was one of the many forms the Feeder took. The line underneath it read, “A life of unrequited love.”
The next frame to it had a woman laying in a field of purple flowers in the gardens. The woman's face was twisted into a smile, their neck split open as silver poured onto the ground, the knife held in her hand. Underneath its frame it read, “A life of disillusioned beauty.”
One portrait after the other the captions read, “A life of kill joy,” “A life of constructed escapism,” “A life of shallow grandeur.” The woman came to a stop when she recognized an older woman in a rocking chair staring out of the window toward the sea. It was her teacher.
The woman shifted the hologram slightly and saw that her teacher wasn’t staring at the waters, but at the raven-haired pirate as he walked away to set sail. Underneath her frame it read, “A life of mournful regret and despair.”
The old teacher tilted her face to the woman as if the teacher could see directly into her soul. As if the teacher knew she was being watched. Her teacher tapped her neck twice before slumping into the chair, her body going limp like cut strings. The hologram shimmered then replayed on repeat.
The woman stepped backwards, trying to put the pieces together. Her back hit against something hard. The woman flipped around to investigate; she saw herself in one of the largest holograms. The image was the night sky, the moon waning, the woman dressed in white. Her hand clasped around her neck as she stood, feet buried in the sand, peering out into the sea. Underneath it read, “A life of isolated hope and enslaved dreams.”
The woman grabbed her neck as realization hit her. The creature would never free her. This was how the Feeder predicted her life to end, death to her hopes, dreams, and desires until she finally ended her own life. All this time the woman thought if she could do everything right, she would finally touch the sea, she would finally be free from the cycle of abuse and terror.
The woman tightened her grip around her throat.
No matter how compliant, subservient, obedient she was, the Feeder would never set her free, even after death, she would remain trapped in a constant loop of misery.
Next to the woman’s hologram, a new portrait formed. It was the child, but they were painted much older. Their locs went past their feet and trailed behind them like a waterfall merging with a river. The creature, in its true form, held the child in its grasp, one arm laid over the child’s chest possessively, the other hand held the child’s arms while its tongue wrapped around the child’s neck as they laid backwards on the creature. The end of its red tongue licked silver from the child’s throat. Under the portrait, it read, “A life of mind numbing nothingness.”
“No!” The woman croaked. “No!” Her voice scraped her vocal cords. She hit her fist on the hologram, but her hand went straight through it, slamming into the wall. The woman grabbed the candle next to the portraits and threw it. The fire slowly burned as the rage built in her eyes. She threw another candle, and another until the entire room blazed. The woman watched the holograms flicker out and die as the fire grew higher.
This ends tonight, the woman thought leaving the red door behind.
In the kitchen, there was gasoline stored right at the back door. She grabbed a lighter and the biggest jug, emptying the contents throughout the castle, sparking fires. The woman made it to the Feeder’s door and kicked it open. She slung gasoline over the bedroom. The Feeder laid on top of the child, its mouth filled with silver blood on its milky white skin.
“This is such a surprise.” The Feeder rose off the child, its long bony legs easing to the floor. “And here I thought your story had already been written,” It said. It grew to its full length. The Feeder wrapped its large hands around the child’s leg, dragging their body from the bed. The child’s eyes stared at the ceiling, their body unmoving. “See what you left me with?” It laughed and shook the child. “Nothingness. No joy, no pleasure, no despair. You did not train them well.” The creature inched closer. “And you honestly think I would let you go?” It grinned.
The woman trembled, dropping the container to the floor. “I wi–ll not l–et y-ou destroy anyone else,” she said as her heart hammered against her chest.
“And what will you do about it? Light that stick? Kill us all?” The Feeder laughed, slinging the child to the woman’s feet. Their head smacked hard against the white hardwood floor, spilling silver blood. The woman bent over, placing two fingers on their throat. Their breaths were short and shallow.
“You won’t be able to defeat me.” The Feeder’s form extended toward the ceiling, its white claws growing like sharp jagged nails. Its true form was a mass of whiteness with a mouth that opened to millions of sharp teeth and five red tongues. Each tongue licked out as if tasting the air. The Feeder's eyes were sockets of many shattered mirrors. Reflecting on them were destroyed lives captured in the Feeder’s grip as it fed. “I am the living manifestation of every dark and evil deed of humankind. To destroy me, is to destroy you.” It said, its tongue licking out its mouth.
The woman lifted the child into her arms. She used her panic as fuel and strength to make herself move. “Then we will die together.”
She lit the match and threw it onto the gasoline that the Feeder’s enormous feet had stepped into. She took off running down the hall to the stairs. The Feeder screamed, making the sigil glow. The sigil burned the back of the woman’s neck and caused stabbing pain throughout her nervous system. The child screamed as the sigil seared the back of their neck, too. The woman stumbled, dropping the child as they both tumbled down the remaining steps.
The castle shook, as the monster burst through the hallway, jumping from the banister and onto the bottom floor. Shards of wood shot out and the woman threw herself over the child.
“You could have been my eternal. You could have saved the child if only you sacrificed yourself. But no. You couldn’t do that, could you?” The Feeder bent over the woman, its tongues flicking widely. “You don’t deserve grace. You’re no better than those who had come before you, and you’re no better than me.” The Feeder grabbed the woman’s feet, dragging her away from the child and throwing her against the wall. “Because of this, it will be my honor to eat the child first while you watch.”
A life of isolated hope and enslaved dreams. The line replayed in her mind as the Feeder scooped the child up by their legs and raised them to its mouth. Smoke blinded the woman as the castle fell apart around her. She choked as a heatwave made her vision blur.
“Divine,” soft voices chimed into her mind. “Remember, you’re.” The words translated as pieces finally locked in place. “Remember, you are divine.” The sea, the ocean, the call from the great depths. The splash of bodies thrown over ships, breaking their chains, and growing fins. The image of the seaman risking his life to save theirs. Your song will save you in the end.
The rest of her song came to her like a great typhoon. The woman opened her mouth to sing. “I am the divinity born from tragedy. The magic of the universe, the root of my ancestors. I am the voice of those you could not silence.”
The Feeder screamed, its entire body shrinking rapidly.
The woman continued, her voice grew louder over the burning wood and the shrieks of the Feeder. “I am the one you could not kill. I am the reflection of your greatest transgressions. I am the one you could not bury and the one who lived.”
The Feeder let go of the child, its body convulsing. The monster rushed over to the woman. Black blood oozed from its mouth and nose creating acid droplets on the weakening scorched floor.
“I am the cosmos,” the child’s tiny voice rang out. “The navigation for the lost.”
The Feeder about-faced, scouring at the child, its milky skin pooling around its feet. “You think you can get rid of me!” The Feeder’s laugh roared over the breaking panels falling from the ceiling. “There will always be darkness in the hearts of humanity, and there I will always feed!” It turned to the woman, a grimace curling on its face.
The woman sang, letting her song overtake her while the child joined in. “I am the beginning of healing and the ending of fear. I am the justice of my people, the cornerstone of our salvation. All that I am, you are not. And all that you are not. I am!”
A fire beam slammed onto the withering monster, creating a giant hole in the center of the floor. The woman called for the child as the castle collapsed around them. They ran out of the door, before the light tower gave way, falling backwards into the heap of the blaze.
At the seashore, the woman and child stood. The waves rushed upon the sand. The moon had disappeared under the horizon and the sunlight burst forth. It covered all that it touched in a glorious red glow. No mermaids greeted them, no song rose from the waters; it was just the gentle swells of sea awaiting them.
The woman shed her clothing and stepped closer to the water.
“No,” the child shook their head, stepping backwards.
The woman tucked her hair to the side, revealing no sigil of chains. She felt the curse break, before the monster plummeted into the hole deep into the earth.
The child gripped the back of their neck, shaking their head no. Their feet dragged against the sand, breathing rapidly. The woman sat on her knees, holding her golden scale necklace in one hand, and the child’s necklace in the other.
“I’m sorry for hurting you," she said, her tight corkscrew curls blowing in the wind. "Inflicting pain onto you to protect you—to prepare you—were all weak excuses. I was afraid, and I passed that fear to you. I am sorry.”
The woman glanced behind the child to the mountain’s edge. The castle was ablaze, turning everything she once knew to ash. The woman rose to her feet. “Our ancestors were the breakers of chains. I am the breaker of curses and the defeater of monsters, and you my child—” The woman held out her hand, the rainbow scale dangled from her fingertips. “—are who you say you are.”
The child let out a shaky smile. They stepped toward the woman as she bathed in the sunlight. The child took the necklace, latching it around their neck, then shed their clothing and grabbed the woman’s hand. Slowly, they dipped their toes into the waters. The sea was cool to the touch. The waves wrapped around them the further they went in. Gold scales bloomed over the woman, highlighting her in a shimmering yellow glow.
The child let go of the woman, overcome with joy, they rolled and flipped around in the waves, their tail slapping against the surface of the waters. The child laughed, and the woman joined along, unafraid, uncensored.
"Divine—" the woman said, as they swam further, the child jumped into the air and splashed down into the waters. Their rainbow scales glittering boldly in the sunlight.
"—remember you’re.”
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