A Mermaid for the Lonely

𝒜𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒯𝒾𝒹𝑒

The moon hung low over the secret cove, casting a soft glow over the ocean's surface. It had been a week since Lyam and Sirène had found this secluded spot far from prying eyes, a sanctuary away from the town and its growing hostility. Tonight, the water was calm, lapping gently against the rocks as Lyam sat on the shoreline, his feet buried in the cool sand. Sirène rested nearby, her tail submerged in the water as they engaged in one of their many conversations that had come to define their evenings together.

"...but that's the thing," Lyam said, leaning back on his hands. "Humans have this strange way of complicating everything, even when things are simple. You don't get that in the sea, do you?"

Sirène tilted her head, her pink hair shimmering under the moonlight as she thought about his words. She was getting better at grasping the nuances of human emotions, though many still puzzled her. A soft smile tugged at her lips as she glanced at him.

"It's not as if you would want to be a merman," she said, her tone laced with a subtle hint of sarcasm—a skill she had been learning under Lyam's teasing guidance.

Lyam blinked, caught off guard. This was new. He stared at her for a moment before chuckling. "Wait—what? Did you just make a joke?"

Sirène shrugged, her wide silver eyes gleaming mischievously. "Maybe."

He grinned. "You're getting better at this sarcasm thing. But..." He leaned forward, intrigued. "What do you mean, I wouldn't want to be a merman? Is that even possible?"

Sirène hesitated, her playful demeanor fading slightly as she considered his question. Her eyes drifted out to the horizon, the sea stretching endlessly before them. "I don't know," she began slowly. "It's not something that happens often—if at all. Merfolk don't change humans. We can't. But..." She paused, frowning. "The sea, it's powerful. It has its own will, its own way of shaping things."

Lyam's brow furrowed. "So, it's the sea, not you, that holds that power?"

She nodded, her expression serious now. "The sea is what binds me, gives me my form, my purpose. Sometimes it pulls on things—people. I've seen sailors lost to it, taken by the current, and changed in ways I don't fully understand. But I've never seen anyone willingly choose to be part of it."

Lyam's heart skipped a beat at the weight of her words. "So...it's possible, but not without consequence?"

Sirène met his gaze, her silver eyes reflecting the depth of her knowledge and the mysteries she still couldn't unravel. "I don't know what the consequence would be. The sea doesn't give without taking something in return. It might change you, make you something else—something not quite human, but not fully merfolk either. And once it happens, there's no going back."

Lyam fell silent, the idea swirling in his mind. The sea had always held a strange allure for him, something more than just fascination. But this? This was something entirely different. He wasn't sure if it was the thought of being with Sirène in her world or the escape from his own that made the possibility seem both terrifying and strangely tempting.

"But..." Sirène's voice softened, drawing him back to the present. "You don't want that. The sea isn't your home, Lyam. You belong on land. I've seen what happens to humans who try to become part of it—they lose themselves."

Lyam's eyes lingered on her face, his chest tightening. He couldn't help but wonder, though—what if there was a way? What if, for her, he could belong somewhere else? But he said nothing, letting the conversation hang in the cool night air.

After a while, Sirène broke the silence with a soft giggle. "Besides," she added, her sarcasm creeping back, "you'd make a terrible merman."

Lyam laughed, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Oh really? And why is that?"