I watched them kill my love.
We had met because of a storm—he was thrown from the deck of his ship, I was tangled in a rope trailing from the anchor. I had saved him from being lost in the churning of the ocean, and he had cut me free. When he had climbed back onto the deck of the ship, no one had questioned it—but though I had begged him to be careful, he had slipped out night after night to speak to me, until we both realized that we had somehow slipped beyond friends and fallen into love.
I heard the names they called him when they caught him on the ship’s deck. Siren’s folly. We had known the risks, but we hadn’t thought that such cruelty would be ours to bear. I heard them drag him below deck and knew then that he was beyond my reach, though still I waited, trailing behind the ship. Why I tortured myself, I could not tell—to this day I do not know why I did not leave, to weep and mourn in private. I followed, and I watched what happened after.
I watched them throw him over the side of the ship and drag him under the water, scraping his back along the barnacles and sea moss of the keel, blood escaping into the water in red ribbons. The enchanted silver rods bolted to the sides of the ship kept their wards steady, and when I tried to dash through, driven mad by his screams, they burned me and threw me back.
I watched as they let him float, kicking and writhing in a cloudy mist, until his struggles weakened and the sharks came to feed.
I turned away then, wailing for my love.
But tonight, I will not turn away.
After my love was murdered, I traveled the breadth and depth of the ocean, as my throat grew sore from my keening. Still, I never stopped—through peace and storm I cried my story, cried against the injustice, cried for revenge, until my voice failed and I could only croak the barest of words. By then, my song had carried my story far and wide, and I found a way to enact my revenge.
I have gathered my brothers and my sisters, and as I raised my head from the water and stared into the so-called safety of the harbor, I could see the ship, rocking silently at anchor. The enchanted silver rods gleamed in neat stacks on the deck, almost glowing white in the moonlight. They took them out to clean them of barnacles and sea-moss and refresh the silver and the runes. It is something commonly done in the harbors, for they think we will not climb their rock breakwalls or risk being burned by their wards.
On a usual night, they would be correct, for we do not usually hold any animosity towards humans.
They thought they would be safe.
They thought they were clever.
But they have never known the wrath of a maiden of the sea. I will wreak upon them tenfold of what they have wrought upon me.
Tonight, I will avenge my love.
H. A. Titus can be most often found with her nose in a book or spinning storyworlds in her head.
She publishes short stories and serialized novels on her newsletter at http://hatitus.substack.com