A Mermaid for the Lonely

Treading Dangerous Waters

Lyam had always felt like an outsider in town. Even before Sirène, his tendency to drift along the edges of social circles, his preference for solitude, and the invisible distance he kept from others had made him an enigma. But now, the feeling of being watched—truly watched—settled on him like a heavy weight every time he set foot in town.

The whispers had grown louder since the festival. He could feel the eyes that trailed after him, hear the murmur of hushed conversations as he passed by. People didn't even bother to mask their curiosity anymore. What had once been harmless rumors about the strange man who lived near the cliffs had turned into open suspicion, their voices louder, their words sharper. The girl he had brought to the festival, the mysterious stranger, had disappeared, and the townspeople were starting to demand answers.

But Lyam had none to give them.

He kept his head down as he walked through the market square, pretending to be preoccupied by the stalls. The bright morning sun filtered through the thin clouds, casting a soft glow over the streets, but even the gentle light couldn't soften the sharp stares thrown his way. He had become the center of attention in a way that unnerved him. The weight of the town's eyes pressed down on him with each step, like a shadow he couldn't shake.

As he passed a group of men near the docks, their conversation stopped abruptly. Lyam didn't need to look up to know they were watching him. He kept his pace steady, though his heart raced. The town had always been small, quiet, and insular. Outsiders were noticed. And Lyam, who had once been part of its quiet fabric, was now the subject of its curiosity—and worse, its distrust.

He needed to get back to the lagoon. It was the only place that felt safe now.

But before he could take another step, a gruff voice called out, breaking the morning silence.

"Lyam," the voice croaked, rough from years of shouting commands at sea. "A word."

Lyam stopped, his stomach tightening. Slowly, he turned to see who had called him. It was Mikkel, an old sailor who had spent decades on the ocean before retiring to the town's small port. His face was weathered, skin like cracked leather from the sun and salt, and his eyes held the kind of hard-won knowledge only sailors possessed. Mikkel wasn't the kind of man who approached others lightly. If he was calling for Lyam, it wasn't for idle chatter.

"Morning, Mikkel," Lyam greeted, forcing calm into his voice.

Mikkel stepped closer, his cane tapping against the cobblestones with every step. His sharp eyes flicked over Lyam, studying him with a suspicion that made the hairs on the back of Lyam's neck prickle. "Haven't seen that girl around," Mikkel said, his voice casual but laced with meaning. 

"The one you brought to the festival."

Lyam's heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face neutral. "She doesn't live in town."

"That much is clear." Mikkel's gaze was piercing, as though he could see right through Lyam's thin veneer of nonchalance. "Strange, though. A girl like that... showing up out of nowhere, disappearing just as quick. People are talking."

Lyam tensed. "People talk about a lot of things."

"Aye, they do. But this time, they're asking questions. Questions about you." Mikkel leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. "Where'd you find her? Out by the cliffs, wasn't it?"

Lyam swallowed, a cold chill creeping up his spine. He had been careful to keep his interactions with Sirène private, but the festival had been a mistake. Bringing her there, letting her walk among the townsfolk... it had drawn too much attention. And now, the townspeople were circling, hungry for answers.