The Little Mermaid

23 - Healing Lashanie

A cold dread constricted Ariel's throat as she cradled Lashanie's limp form. The vibrant mermaid she knew, full of life and curiosity, was a pale imitation of herself. Lashanie's once iridescent scales were dull, her lips colorless, and her usually bright eyes were tightly shut. The curse's final act had taken a brutal toll.

Panic gnawed at Ariel, pushing past the initial shock. She needed to get Lashanie to the healers, and fast. Surfacing with a powerful burst of her tail, she scanned the horizon. In the distance, the majestic spires of Atlantica pierced the water's surface, a beacon of hope in the growing darkness.

With a desperate cry that echoed across the waves, "Help! Lashanie needs healing!", Ariel propelled herself towards the palace. Her voice, usually filled with a carefree melody, was raw and ragged. The urgency in her tone was unmistakable.

As she neared the palace gates, guards materialized around her, their expressions morphing from surprise to alarm upon seeing Lashanie's unconscious form. They needed no further explanation. The news of Lashanie's transformation and subsequent disappearance had rippled through Atlantica, leaving a trail of worry in its wake.

Triton, alerted by the commotion, swam towards them, his powerful form cutting through the water. His face, usually etched with stoicism, mirrored Ariel's panic. "Ariel! What happened?" he boomed, a tremor of fear lacing his voice.

Ariel, gasping for breath, pointed towards Lashanie. "The curse... it weakened her. We need to get her to the healers... now!"

Triton, understanding the gravity of the situation, wasted no time. With a wave of his hand, he barked orders to the guards. A path was cleared, and Ariel, cradling Lashanie close, was ushered through the palace gates.

The journey to the healers' quarters seemed to stretch on forever. Ariel felt the weight of Lashanie's limp form a stark reminder of their vulnerability. They had saved Atlantica, but at a terrible cost.

Finally, they reached the designated chamber. The healers, alerted beforehand, awaited them with a mixture of concern and trepidation. They had heard whispers of the battle at the fairground, of the sea witch's defeat, and of the toll it had taken on the mermaid princess.

Ariel gently placed Lashanie on the cool stone slab, a silent plea escaping her lips. The healers, their faces grim, swarmed around Lashanie, their movements swift and practiced. They checked her pulse, examined her scales, and muttered amongst themselves in hushed tones.

Ariel, feeling helpless on the sidelines, paced the room, worry gnawing at her insides. The melody of their friendship, usually a vibrant duet, had been reduced to a single, mournful note. But Ariel, fueled by love and loyalty, refused to let it fade.

She would stay by Lashanie's side, a silent vigil against the encroaching darkness. She would wait for her friend to awaken, wait for the day that melody would rise again, stronger than ever, a testament to the enduring power of their bond.

Weeks bled into months, the vibrant coral walls of Atlantica a constant reminder of the life Lashanie once lived. Ariel, a pillar of unwavering support, remained by her friend's side. The healers, though skilled, could only offer limited solace. Lashanie remained trapped in a state of unconsciousness, the curse's final act a cruel twist of fate.

King Triton, his once powerful form diminished by the sacrifice he made, paced the palace halls, a heavy weight settling upon him. He had saved his daughter, but at the cost of another – a mermaid who had bridged the gap between their worlds, a friend who had captured Varian's heart.

One starlit night, Triton found himself drawn to the healers' quarters. Ariel, her eyes red-rimmed from fatigue, sat beside Lashanie's unmoving form. Triton, his voice hoarse with emotion, spoke: "Ariel, perhaps it is time for a different approach."