A crowd of people is swarming around her. They cannot help themselves. Her voice reels them in and holds them spellbound. She sings – of love and loss and letting go – and dances – light on her feet like a prima ballerina. Her audience laughs and cries and when a song comes to its end, they beg for another one, not noticing that the spell has been broken.
The Little Mermaid took the knife and ran to the prince’s bedroom. She loved him. But if she couldn’t have him, she didn’t want another woman to have him, either. She plunged the knife into his heart, put it in his new wife’s hand and wet her feet with his blood. They stopped hurting. She flung herself out the window and into the sea, watching her legs turn into a fishtail again.
Despite the transformation, the Little Mermaid wasn’t herself anymore. She spent her days rubbing away an invisible stain on her tail, voicelessly complaining about her ever bloody feet.
Shrouds of blue fog rise from the lake. The rowboat ploughs through the red, syrupy water, slowing down with every stroke. The slight rower dreads the lake monsters – slow creatures that make up in intelligence what they lack in speed. They’ll be calculating the best place to intercept the boat.
She’s known about them since she found a boatman training on a rowing machine.
‘Building strength. So the monsters won’t pull me under, Princess.’
The other thing he told her: ‘I zig-zag across. Throws them off course.’
She’s outwitted her monstrous father. She’ll fool the lake monsters, too.
It’s the second day of Writing 101, and I’ve combined today’s prompt with the MFtS prompts. It’s a lovely picture, and I’m looking forward to reading the other stories.