Once upon a time, there was a little mermaid with deep diamond eyes that encompassed the sea, soft porcelain skin, and thick, resplendent auburn hair. She was to marry a young, dashing prince from a faraway land. As the fairytale is told, she bargains her beautiful voice for human legs. Her delicate nature made songbirds sing and inspired minstrels' ballads and her pure generosity spread kindness like wildfire throughout the kingdom. And thus, the little mermaid, now human, captured the prince’s heart. 

Unlike the stories whispered beneath the flickering bed lamps for children to fall into slumber and dream of white towering castles, Ariel’s story was of betrayal, death, and murder. If we unravel the words that traveled from tongue to tongue, continent to continent, from legend to myth to tale to memory, we find that this story isn’t half true, nor half as pleasant. 

For when she naively begged the sea witch for a favor and exchanged both her soul and musical voice for cursed legs, each step she took was like a thousand needles piercing into her skin. She was bound to make the prince love her, lest she would pay the price, and transform into sea foam. And even with her altruism, courage, and kindness, the prince she did once love wholeheartedly, with every piece of her being, betrayed her trust and turned to another lover. 

Forgetting her name. 

Let me tell you the truth about how this fairy tale ends: 

The curse is made true, and her body disintegrates into lifeless, prosaic sea foam. However, the instant before she is lost forever, time holds its breath as a single devilish offer is given to spare her life. 

The sea witch gazes down pitifully at the child whose legs and arms morphed into foam before her. While her body transforms, the child serenely gazes out to sea, head bowed in acceptance of her fate. Her soul was taken, and no sound came from her aching throat. 

“What a pitiful sight you are, child. Do you have any last wishes?” 

At the melodic sound of the witch’s voice, the curse paused in its course, as if waiting impatiently for its master’s next command. The sea witch was eerily beautiful, her infinitely dark eyes glistened with curiosity. Yet, whenever one tries to focus on her crimson painted lips or her obsidian flowing hair, the edges blur, converge and morph. A body that is, but isn’t right. 

The child smiled sadly.

 “Ah, I’ve forgotten that I’ve taken your voice to gift you human legs. A silly exchange, like I warned, and look where it brought you. People of the ocean don’t belong on land, much less learn to love.” 

Her voice seemed so familiar to the child. Then she came to the hesitant realization that it was once hers.

 “Since your pitiful existence is amusing, I’ll give you another chance at life.” The witch crooned, pleased with her own small act of mercy. 

“If you kill the prince and bring me his eyes, - doesn’t he have such beautiful eyes? -  then I will nullify the curse and all that came with it. I will hand you your tail, your soul, and,” she crooned, “ your voice.” 

The child considered this. The ocean’s welcoming scent and soft enveloping warmth pulled her, but she yearned, as she always had, for a life on land. With a slight tilt of her chin, she accepted the offering, much to the witch’s pleasure, who laughed delightedly. 

“Oh beautiful child, you never cease to amuse me.” 

And from one second to the next, time began once again and the curse receded into the depths of the earth and to something far deeper, darker. The witch vanished with it, leaving the child alone on the broad expanse of the shore. And as she turned her back to the golden hue of light dancing on the glittering water, her only thought was: 

Fooled me once, but love will never fool me twice. 

___

The witch lightly drifted through the entrance of her room, her movements followed by an echo of where she was a moment before, a ghost in a dead woman's bones. A devoid of light and darkness that seemed to be eternal, older than the birth of the universe, welcomed the witch’s presence. To her, it was home. 

And as she sits in front of her mirror that isn’t there, to a reflection that isn’t hers, but is real, and brushes another’s hair, in sharp, even strokes, she hums to herself. A song long forgotten, a song the first man has never heard, a song that reminded her of a life that she once had. 

Oh, how she likes beautiful things. It reminded her of who she was.