The Stolen Merman

Chapter 2: Aquamarine

The room was no longer there, the impassive concrete walls and floor fading away, Ariella a distant presence. The only thing I could focus on was the doleful face of a beautiful young man. He looked to be around my age with sickly white skin, long-ish, wavy, white hair tinted blue by the aquarium lights, slightly pointed ears and what I think used to be strong ocean blue eyes that now seemed despairing and hopeless. His eyes met mine for a moment while I must have been slack-jawed staring back before Ariella finally went up to the glass, so close that her nose was practically pressed up against it and the condensation from her breath left marks on the once pristine glass. The man's gaze tore from mine and looked straight at Ariella in an almost unnaturally quick movement, almost like that of a cat on the hunt, who was staring with her mouth wide open. While he was distracted with Ariella I took the opportunity to study the rest of him. His pale soft complexion seemed a stark contrast to the artificial colours surrounding him, those colours seeming to be an attempt to liven up the prison they created. My eyes trailed further down past the gills on his neck as they gently waved in the water; his muscled torso and the delicate fins on the side of his arms as I finally built the courage to look at the bottom of his hips. I suck in a breath, glistening iridescent blue scales ever so delicately protrude from his skin and continue down to end in an astounding tail; white fins gently swaying in the stillness of the tank. The lights in the tank were a pale blue which gave his skin a faint cerulean sheen which made him appear more unreal, ethereal even, like he shouldn't exist in this plane of existence. He slightly shifted, the water barely rippling with the movement of this being in his natural element. It's then I noticed a thin chain trailing along the bottom of the tank leaving a delicate track in the sand and finally noted that he wore a collar, much like the kind dogs wear if they were made of unforgiving metal, to which the chain was connected. In an almost hypnotic daze, I found myself taking steps towards the tank and placing my hand against the cold, unforgiving glass that sent a shiver down my spine with a chill. His predatory eyes darted back to me and held. Both of us are completely still, statues to match the Gods just outside the doors. I stopped breathing, worried that even that small movement would startle him again. Or maybe I was fearful for myself, with those sharp eyes staring into mine to match the talon-like nails on the end of his fingers. His eyes flit between Ariella and I, first with apprehension and slowly I saw it turn to curiosity his light eyebrows bunching.

I loosed a breath and in that moment he swished his tail and was behind the glass in front of me. I almost jumped back at the sudden movement, my trainers squeaking with the small half-step I started to take. He cocked his head to the side, slowly lifted his arm and placed his hand across from where I had laid mine on the glass what felt like a century ago as this magical moment stretches on. I could see a thin layer of what looked like skin stretched between each of his taloned fingers but it was intricately laced with weaving veinous patterns, despite the lethal-looking talons, his hands were beautiful to me. He raised his eyes from looking at his outstretched hand to stare at me again in the eyes. I could see his facial expression shift from guarded to curious; but he still looked so sad underneath all of that, it was like he was trying to convey something but didn't know how. I hesitantly turned back to Ariella whose jaw was practically touching the floor as she indeed gawked at him. At this action, the mermaid drew his hand back slightly looking between Ariella, me and the chain that disappeared above the rippling water. A thought popped into my head and I went to retrieve something from my bag as quickly as I could without any sudden movements. Thankfully he was where I left him when I returned. The pages of my sketchbook tremble as I leaf through them looking for one particular sketch, my eyes skirting upwards to make sure he was still there. I found him looking down at me inquisitively, his hand now down beside him but still gently moving in the gentle sway of the water.

After a few seconds that felt like minutes I found the picture I was looking for, the aquamarine eyes I drew a few days ago staring back at me, both from the page and behind the glass as I turned the sketch towards him. His eyes widen in surprise, his tail fins unfurling a bit more so he is closer to the glass and he inspected the drawing I did days before meeting him. Not every detail was the same, this man before me was definitely bigger, and more muscled, and his tail wasn't only blue but had white delicate fins. But the resemblance was still uncanny enough for him to stare, and stare, and stare before he finally looked back at me. A question in those sad aquamarine eyes.