Sea Foam | ✓

xix.

I visited her in the prison, dear sister. I visited the sea witch.

Father, Grandmother and our sisters were preparing for your funeral, so no one paid much attention to me. They all wished to leave me alone. I can understand why.

I had lost my sister. My dear, sweet, baby sister, with eyes like the ocean. My sister.

Mermaids cannot cry. But even then, I had no tears to shed. There was only maddening fury in my mind. Fury and revenge.

The guards parted for me when I went into the dungeon.

She hung in behind the coral bars, her skinny bone-like wrists trapped in rusted shackles. When she saw me, she laughed sadly. "She died, didn't she?"

I did not say a word. The grip on the knife tightened.

The witch continued laughing. "Foolish... oh so very foolish..." Then she stopped abruptly. Her silver, nocturnal eyes shone like two round coins. "Do you wish to know what the Prince feels right now? Do you wish to see?"

I did not move.

You don't need to know, I told myself firmly.

The witch rolled her head to the side, her left arm supporting her neck. She remarked languidly, "They will execute me tomorrow."

Good, I thought.

"I might as well give you one last glimpse," She said, turning her head up slowly. "Bring me the cauldron, and we shall see."

I wanted to say no.

I wanted to, I swear.

I wanted nothing to do with this old crone anymore.

But I was soon hauling the cauldron down, following her orders like a pathetic apprentice. I poured the ingredients in, and then the witch began to chant. A glow rose from the murky potion in the cauldron.

"Look in!" The witch said gleefully. "Look in! Tell me what you see!"

I peered into it. There he was. Your prince.

Surrounded by chittering courtiers and glittering red wine, in a castle made of gold, with his demure bride by his side giggling politely.

I balled my hands into fists.

Someone asked him, "Where's that pretty little thing that followed you around? The mute dancer?"

"Who?" He replied, with a confused smile. Then he snapped his fingers as though he had figured it out. "Oh, her! I don't know. Must've run away, I don't really care." He wrapped an arm around his bride and laughed at some vapid joke.

The vision dulled and then it looked like chaos.

I couldn't breathe. There was anger, sorrow, regret, in every pore of my being. I quivered like ice crackling in the heat. I could not say a word.

I was quiet rage. It thrummed in my every vein, every breath, every sound.

I felt even if I set the whole sea ablaze, the fire of fury inside me would not quench.

"The dagger thirsts for blood." The voice of the witch cut through my anger, her shackled hand pointing at the cold, hard knife in my hand. Then she looked at me dead in the eye.

Anger turned to resolve.

"You can still use that knife."