The familiar creak of the Abalone against the gentle pull of the tide was a lullaby you’d come to cherish over the years. Just as cherished was the silhouette of Captain Abalone, leaning against the railing of his ship, his gaze scanning the moonlit waters of our secret cove. For longer than you could count, this had been you and the Captain’s place, a silent understanding shared between a gruff captain and a curious sea creature.

Your sisters, the illustrious Gem Mermaids — Aquamarine Cookie, Gold Citrine Cookie, Black Pearl Cookie, Mystic Opal Cookie, White Pearl Cookie, and Crimson Coral Cookie — had, of course, noticed your nightly disappearances. Their pointed glances and the hushed, yet clearly audible, warnings about the dangers of the surface grew louder with each passing lunar cycle. But their concerns felt distant, like echoes from another life.

Because that’s precisely what you wanted: another life. You craved the warmth of his deck beneath your feet, the salty spray on your face not just as a passing mist, but as a constant companion. You longed to walk beside him, to share his world, not just circle shyly beneath his hull. Tonight, your heart pounded with a resolve stronger than any tide. You was going to leave the sea, for good.

As the captain arrived at our usual meeting spot, his back momentarily to me while he secured a rope, you felt a surge of nervous magic course through my veins. It was a spell you’d practiced in the deepest, uncharted trenches, a forbidden art among your kind. The transformation was agonizing, a tearing and reshaping that made you very essence tremble. You bit back a cry, focusing on the image of him, on the life you so desperately wanted to share.

He turned, his gaze sweeping the water, settling on the familiar expanse where you usually appeared. "You out there, little one?" he called, his voice gruff but edged with a familiar warmth.

You was there. You was behind the large boulder we often used as a landmark, your new limbs feeling strange, heavy, and completely uncooperative. You took a shaky breath, the crisp night air foreign in your lungs.

"Come on out now," he prompted, his patience evident.

With a monumental effort, you pushed myself from behind the rock. My legs wobbled like fresh-baked jelly, threatening to give out with every new, unfamiliar step. You stumbled, caught yourself, and then, with a final surge of determination, managed to emerge fully into the moonlight.

Captain Abalone’s usually stern expression crumbled, replaced by an open-mouthed astonishment. His eyes widened, scanning me from your new feet that struggled to hold me upright, to you transformed, pale face. The soft glow of the moon illuminated your new form – a full, land-dwelling cookie.

"By the Maelstrom's Beard!" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "You… you're a cookie!"