The Mermaid's Sad Song

Jill’s smile stretched wider and the realization my stomach churn. 

 I vomited right there.

“Oh my God—my shoes!” Jill shrieked in disgust, jumping back as bile splashed on her expensive heels.

The assistant didn’t even wait for an order. He grabbed me by the collar and slapped me so hard that the tears on my face splattered to the side. My cheek stung, my ears rang, but I didn’t make a sound.

Sam had always been a neat freak. Germaphobe to the core. Yet now, he crouched down beside Jill with a pristine handkerchief and gently dabbed at her soiled shoes with the kind of patience and tenderness that made my chest tighten. So gentle. So careful.

Back then, after using my body like I was nothing more than a release, he wouldn’t even look at me—let alone help me clean up.

Now, he looked genuinely annoyed.

“Ungrateful bitch,” he snapped. “If she won’t eat it, then let the dogs have it!” 

Jill put on a delicate smile and touched his arm, her voice as soft as whipped cream. “Nerissa’s probably just not hungry, Sam. Don’t be too hard on her.” 

She tilted her head, all sweetness and false concern. “Maybe... she could help me with my painting? Make up for the mess?”

Sam sighed, the irritation in his eyes dimming under her gaze. He gave her a helpless little chuckle. “You really are too kind sometimes.”

He looked over at me then, his expression sharp again like a blade, about to say something else—but his phone rang. His features instantly softened. He leaned in close to Jill, whispering something sweet in her ear before bending down to press a kiss against her pregnant belly.

I didn’t know why, but my chest ached. My nose burned like I was about to cry.

He left and Jill’s mask dropped. The warmth disappeared from her face like it had never been there.

“I don’t like people watching me when I paint,” she said flatly. “Go to the basement.”

I didn’t argue. I turned and walked away.

In the basement, a maid tossed a few plastic buckets at me, her nose wrinkled in contempt like I was garbage. Her voice was deliberately high-pitched, mocking.

“Hey freak, the madam’s short on red paint today. And nothing beats the color of fresh blood. Fill three of these buckets, now.”

She tossed a rusted razor blade at my feet.

“Use that,” she sneered. 

I stared at the blade. “It’s rusty.”

She spat on the ground. “You think you deserve clean tools, monster? You’re not some pampered princess. You’re just a thing. And you don’t die that easy.” 

She folded her arms, clearly ready to watch.

I didn’t say a word. I picked up the blade.

And cut.

Warm, red blood dripped into the first bucket. Then the second. My hands were trembling by the time I reached the third. My whole body was cold. My lips had turned blue.

Only when the third bucket was full did I stop.

I leaned against the damp wall, eyes blank, trying to stay conscious.

Upstairs, I heard the maids gossiping as they walked by carrying stained laundry.

“Madam’s paintings really are something, huh? Shame the materials are so hard to come by.”

“Tell me about it. Took killing several mermaids just to get enough pearl powder. And even then, some of the blood was too impure. A monster is just a monster, different from us humans.”

I could feel every hair on my body rise. My limbs were numb, but I forced myself to stand.

I dragged myself back to the courtyard. And then I heard it—high-pitched, heart-wrenching cries.

I stumbled forward just in time to see Jill—smiling, serene—grinding her heel into the mutilated tail of a dead mermaid. She reached down, pried out a shimmering pearl and crushed it under her heel.

Something inside me cracked.

She turned to me, her face lit by the sun behind her, casting an almost angelic glow that belied the evil lurking in her smile.

“Nerissa,” she said sweetly, “I just realized today that each mermaid pearl is a different color. What a shame, though. I only want the white ones.” Her eyes sparkled with sick delight. “How about you help me out and collect the pearls for me?”

I opened my mouth, but the words froze in my throat—because right then, I saw him.

My little brother.

He was inside a water tank, no older than ten, his tiny hands slapping the glass in desperation. He hadn’t even learned to shift into human form yet.

“Sister! Help me!” he cried, tears rolling down his cheeks, turning into tiny pearls as they fell.

Jill made a pouty face. “Aw, he’s your baby brother? So cute! Oh, I have an idea. Why don’t we start with him? Let’s see what color pearl he has, shall we?”

She waved her hand and two bodyguards dragged him out of the tank like a sack of meat.

“No—please!” I fell to my knees. “Please, I’m begging you, don’t hurt him! Take mine instead! My pearl’s white—I swear!”

Jill twirled the blade in her hand, amused. “But where’s the fun in that? I like surprises. It’s like opening a mystery box!”

She stepped forward, raising the knife toward my brother’s chest.

“Don’t worry, little fishy, Nerissa will have her turn. I’m just going to— AH! What the hell are you doing?!”