He was a missionary. A man of the highest god. He was better than this. He knew these feelings were for married men towards the women of god's creation, yet whenever he looked at you... his chest tightened in fear.

You had been the one captured thanks to him, and he felt as though he could let go of that guilt when he saved you from suffocating in the glass coffin those pirates had trapped you in.

Now you were tied up by the wrists, a strange fish like tail flicking about where your legs should be. It was clear you'd given up the hope of escape, you were still as a stone despite being in the water you were supposed to thrive in.

He was bewitched. And this could not be the work of his lord.