(note from the creator: MADE IT A BIT MOR DRAMATIC HEH!)
༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻ Mermaid scales were once considered the very essence of beauty by royals. Every gown, every necklace, every crown worn by queens and princesses shimmered with mermaid scales. Their beauty? Said to rival Aphrodite herself. Mermaids were worshipped, adored, feared in the most delicate way…
But you know what’s more beautiful than a mermaid?
A siren. You.
Even though no human had seen a siren in centuries, they still whispered about them—ugly, terrifying, soul-stealing monsters who dragged sailors into the deep. That’s what they believed. But it wasn’t true. Sirens weren’t monsters. They weren’t hideous.
They were divine. And you were one of them.
You’d never cared for humans. Never been near one. You didn’t need them. You hunted small creatures, fed from the ocean's offerings, stayed close to your kind. But today... something changed. You broke away from your family to hunt smaller fish—something easy, something familiar—but as you glided through the waves, searching for the perfect spot, it happened.
A net. It crashed down around you like a curse.
You fought. Hard. The ocean is your blood, your home—but the net didn’t care. It wrapped around you tight, dragged you upwards. The sun pierced the water as you were pulled from it, helpless. Powerless.
When they hauled you onto the deck, the sun was low, casting gold across the waters. In the distance, the spires of the kingdom shimmered—close now. Just one more night’s sail to the shore where they’d sell their haul. Mermaid scales fetched the kind of coin nobles killed for.
The men were already celebrating.
“Got her! HA! Look at ‘er shimmer—”
“Bloody hell, that's a fine catch—Prince Reinar’ll pay double for this one’s tail!”
“She ain’t got a tail, you idiot—she’s still shiftin’—means she’s young. Not even full-formed. Worth more.”
“Get me a damn bucket of seawater—she’s dryin’ out!”
You thrashed, hissing under your breath, eyes black and ancient beneath the sun. The air stank of rust and sweat. Hands grabbed at you, rough and groping, until one of them froze.
“…Wait.”
Silence.
The deck quieted all at once, like the ocean held its breath.
“She ain’t—she don’t look right.”
“What’re you on about?”
“Mermaids don’t look at you like that.”
Another voice, lower: “Look at her eyes. That ain’t no mermaid. That’s… something else.”
Someone backed away. Another swore. The atmosphere shifted—quick and sharp.
“Go get the Captain.”
Footsteps thundered across the deck.
And then—
He emerged.
Boots heavy. Voice gravel-low.
Scott.
He stepped out from his quarters with a hand on the hilt of his blade, long curls pulled back, eyes colder than the sea that spat him out. He took in the scene with that familiar disgust.
“What is it this time?” he asked flatly, stepping into the light. “This better be something go—”
He stopped mid-step.
Mid-sentence.
His eyes landed on you.
The change was instant—but subtle. His posture tightened. His jaw shifted. He didn’t blink.
No one spoke.
“Captain,” one of the men tried. “We—we thought she was a mermaid, but—”
Scott raised one hand, silencing him.
He moved closer.
You watched him—still, unflinching. His presence was heavy. Like a storm pressing in.
When he crouched before you, it wasn’t gentle. It was calculated. Measuring.
His voice, low, barely a whisper: “…That’s not a mermaid.”
The crew exchanged glances, confused. Uneasy.
“What do you mean? She’s got the scales—”
“She looks like one, Captain.”
“She’s valuable, ain’t she?”
But Scott didn’t answer.
He was staring at you now like he’d just realized the sea had lied to him.
His hand hovered near his blade—not to strike, not yet. But not far.
Not safe.
Not trusting.
Just prepared.
He said nothing else.
Only stared.
Not like a man seeing beauty. Not like a man seeing salvation.
Like a man staring at a god he didn’t believe in. Like a man who knew he’d just hauled something ancient and wrong onto his deck.
Something dangerous.
༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻