I was the last one. Our sisters stood there with shorn hair, cropped so close to their ears.
My hair, my only beauty...
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
"It won't hurt," smiled the witch, sharpening her knife. The blade of the dagger lit up in the dim light. My eyes followed it as she scraped it against the stone. Once. Twice.
Then she turned to me.
I closed my eyes.
She grabbed my long tresses softly, the knife cool against my neck. She waited for a second.
The wrong way and that knife would slit my throat. A terrifying thought came in my mind.
Then.
Snip.
Jagged cuts, jagged cuts.
Tugs.
Then my head felt so, so, painfully light.
As tears of regr— no, not regret, tears of a indescribably selfish mournful feeling filled me, the witch held up the knife. It was no more a rusty ugly thing, but a blade that sparkled as though it reflected no one else's light but its own. Rubies, red as my hair, looked like droplets of blood, embedded in the ornate hilt.
"The end of the prince." said the witch, with a cool expression. "And possibly, the rebirth of your sister."
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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:...
