Do you remember our gardens, dear sister?
We each had our tiny gardens, where we'd grow our flowers and blossoms and corals and delight and frolic amongst them. It was an easy pretty distraction for young girls such as us, afterall, Grandmother was always busy trying to help Father and having five trouble seekers in the palace must have made the job extremely tough.
Your garden was the most different, wasn't it? Even then, even when we were younger, you were always quiet, dreaming. Your eyes gleamed with fantasy, you looked like you lived in a pretty eternally rose-tinted lie.
And yet, I could swear that there was no truer colour of blue than that of your eyes.
You were always the most beautiful of us all.
Your garden was like you. It was a simple circle, with rays extending from it. In it, grew the sharpest, reddest, blossoms I had ever seen. Crimson. Like human blood. Like the sea had caught fire.
It was beautiful.
It was dangerous.
What is it? I asked you.
You smiled. The sun.
We could not see the sun from the depths of the ocean. How did you know what the sun looked like?
YOU ARE READING
Sea Foam | ✓
Fantasy❝Why did it have to be you, sister?❞ A retelling of the classic fairytale, The Little Mermaid, by Hans Christian Andersen from the perspective of the sister of the mermaid and her recalling the loss of her sister. ©irya kadlec, 2020 cover credit:...
