OVERALL WINNER of the WattALegend: Quorin Saga collaboration contest hosted by the Fantasy family of Ambassador profiles (2021)
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There is a strange restlessness in the magical land of Quorin.
A teenage girl sneaking home one night finds herself...
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The Kingdom of @Retold and @WattpadFairytales
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"Far from home, aren't you, Princess Ariel?"
The horned sea serpent's voice reverberates inside my head. He peers at me, his eyes gleaming with hunger—for my defeat or my flesh, I can't tell.
"What of that?" I ask out loud, brandishing my spear.
I didn't come here to be a monster's meal.
The ceramarist laughs darkly. "You know only the safety of Abyssos, but your laws have no power here, where there are creatures who would be only too glad to devour a merprincess. We have not feasted on royal blood in centuries."
His veiled threat sends shivers through me.
I cast a nervous look around, tightening my grip on my spear. I am alone with the ceramarist, but maybe I shouldn't be so sure about that. Anything could be lurking beyond where the light gives way to darkness; watching, waiting.
At that thought, my lungs squeeze closed. I feel like I'm on dry land, suffocating.
I turn back to the monster.
I can't let it get into my head. If I do, it has already beaten me.
The ceramarist slithers through the water towards me, its segmented bone-white horns glinting. "The ocean would talk of poor Princess Ariel dying at a beast's hand, the bones resting in the depths of the Dead Waters the only evidence of her existence."
"Enough!"
I hurl my spear. It slices through the water. With a dull thud, it bounces off the ceramarist's scaly head.
So that's why legend says these monsters are impossible to kill.
I gulp as my spear sinks into the inky blackness of the ocean.
The monster is unharmed.
I am unarmed.
With a flick of my tail, I dive after my trusty spear. The monster's laughter echoing in my mind spurs me faster. The ceramarist's jaws await me should I be too slow.
If I knew the sorts of creatures that gave the Dead Waters its name, I might have heeded my Father's warning and avoided this part of the sea, so far from his rule and protection.
But Abyssos is dying. I see it in the sickly pallor of my people, in the coral being bleached of their bright colours every day. While Father consults his advisors, we are running out of time.
The dried sea-flower on my wrist reminds me of that. Although wilted now, it was lovely once.
My sisters laugh at me for wearing it still, but it's the last flower I picked before everything in Abyssos began to wither. It represents what we have lost but can reclaim.
