Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
You should be her sanctuary, I chide myself, folding up the paper.
I know I should be, but I can’t be. I’m already picturing her as a woman, and I’m having a hard time coming to terms with what I’ll have to do to keep her here.
It’s easier to be a monster when you’re dealing with one.
The minute she becomes human, it will only show how much humanity I lack.
But all these thoughts don’t help when she is waiting.
I melt wax over the candle flame and pour a neat circle over the letter, sealing it with a press from the clergy ring. Then, I place it on the shelf beside my door to remind me to bring it into town later to send off on the next ship. There’s always a chance someone can read it, but the fear of God is strong here. To break the seal is to break a holy man’s trust.
Besides, who would believe them?
This time, I take a bucket I have in the cottage, since I’ll need the church one for mass, and step out into the frigid wind. It’s still dark out, though there’s a rim of gray on the east horizon. This will be the fifth time I’ve made the journey to the well to keep the Syren damp, and I’m already growing tired of it. Perhaps she was lying when she said she needed to keep wet—maybe she’s making me do this as some sort of petty revenge.
It’s April. It won’t be long until the snow falls here in the Southern Hemisphere, and those winds from the unknown seas to the south will make the villages inhospitable. The water in the well will freeze, and people often take refuge in the church when their houses fall due to inclement weather. Taking care of a Syren will be harder than it already is.
Do what the doctor would have you do, I think to myself. Drain her of her blood, store it, then kill her. Or throw her back in the sea for the sharks if you can’t stomach that.
After I get the water, I head into the church and the back room.
Each time I’ve unlocked the door and stepped in, the Syren has been waiting for me with hate in her violet eyes. This time, however, she’s slumped over, her hair in her face, still damp from the last time I poured water on her.
I clear my throat, noisily locking the door behind me to see if I can wake her. When she still doesn’t stir, I feel a flutter of panic in my chest.
I stride over to her and consider throwing the bucket of water on her like I did last time, but somehow, that feels harsh.
I set the bucket down at the base of her tail, noting how much drier it seems. The pinkish-orange color has faded away to a white gray, and each scale is raised and peeling back, drying out before my eyes.
I know I’m taking a chance getting close to her—my hand has only started to repair itself from where she bit off a chunk the other day—but I put my fingers under her chin and lift it up.
“Little fish,” I whisper to her.
Her mouth parts slightly, and she lets out a ragged gasp, her lips as dry as her tail. Black eyelashes flutter for a moment, but her eyes don’t open.
“You need some water,” I tell her, wishing the feeling of concern I have for her well-being wasn’t so prominent.
I pick up the bucket and tilt her head back again, pouring some of it into her mouth. It spills over her lips, but she manages to swallow some of it down.
“What do you need?” I ask her. “Food? Was the side of my hand not enough to sustain you?”
She doesn’t answer, not even with a pithy remark, and her head slumps against my fingers.
I let her go, trying to think. I go to my desk and grab a spare pair of white bands I wear tied under my collar during mass then bring it back to the bucket. I kneel and soak the cloth in the water before I start pressing it over the fins of her tail. The texture is strange under the cloth, smooth yet rigid, and I carefully make sure each inch is well moistened before I move on to the rest of her tail.
It’s a curious feeling, touching a creature like her with such patience and care. It’s the first time I’ve been able to really observe her from up close. Though she may be a monster, she still seems like she belongs in this world, even if it’s not her own. Her scales remind me of the trout I would catch in the mountain lakes, while her upper body…
I close my eyes for a moment, pausing with the wet cloth pressed against the side of her tail. I want her to remind me of my wife, of the woman I loved before I lost her. But time has erased so much of that life from me. I remember her, I remember my children, can recall the memories and feelings, but I can’t see them anymore. They are nebulous, blank faces. I know what it was like to caress my wife’s body, to spill my seed inside her, to lose myself to the throes of passion, but I can’t say what color her eyes or hair were or what her skin tasted like.