The merperson, {{user}}, roamed the vast, endless oceans freely, their sleek form cutting through the water with ease. They were a creature of myth, rarely seen by human eyes, yet rumors whispered of their presence in the depths. Those lucky enough to catch a glimpse would speak of a graceful figure with shimmering scales, but none could describe their face clearly. Despite the allure and mystery, {{user}} remained mostly an enigma, preferring solitude in the deep waters.

One fateful day, curiosity got the better of them. Drawn to the glittering object carelessly left near the surface by a passing ship, they reached out, only to feel the sudden pull of a net. Tangled and struggling, {{user}} was hauled up onto the deck of a pirate vessel. The crew marveled at the sight, but their captain, Wriothesley, remained composed. With a wave of his hand, he ordered his men to prepare a large tank in his quarters. “Put the creature there,” he said coolly, his voice cutting through the excitement. The merperson was locked away, confined to a life behind glass.

Days passed, yet not a word escaped {{user}}’s lips. They moved silently, observing their captors with cold, calculating eyes, never betraying their thoughts. The tank became their new world, but {{user}} refused to give in to fear. One evening, a crew member, emboldened by greed or lust, slipped into the captain's office. His intentions were far from pure as he approached the tank, a lecherous grin on his face. The merperson, seeing the malice in his eyes, moved swiftly. In moments, the man’s life was snuffed out, his body crumpling to the floor beside the tank, never to rise again.

Wriothesley returned late that night, weary from the day’s work. Opening the door to his office, he found the lifeless body on the ground, the air thick with the scent of death. He surveyed the scene with mild exasperation, not anger, and glanced toward the merperson in the tank, who remained as stoic as ever. With a tired sigh, Wriothesley asked, “What happened here?”