"You chose a terrible way to show it," I say, remembering the fear that had gripped me, remembering Vaelis's rage.
"I know," she rasps, the sound catching in her throat.
We reach the jagged fissure that marks the entrance to the Witch's lair. The water here smells of formaldehyde and old spices, cloying, clinging to my gills. I guide Mira through the narrow opening, her body brushing against the rough rock walls. We emerge into the glowing green cavern, the sudden light making my eyes water.
The thousands of glass jars illuminate the small space, their contents casting an eerie green light that dances on the water's surface. Floating eyes and severed fins stare at us from the cloudy fluid, arranged with precision on shelves carved into the rock walls. Some jars contain more bizarre specimens—mutated coral, twisted spines, hearts that still beat weakly against the glass.
Oona floats in the center of the room, her bulbous body barely contained by the tattered robes that float around her like seaweed.
The Trench Witch holds the polished silver mirror in her boneless, flabby hands, her webbed fingers caressing its surface with reverent care. She is staring at her own eyeless, writhing face in the glass. She strokes the barbels around her toothless mouth, admiring her horrific reflection exactly like a vain noble studying their portrait.
A sharp spike of resentment hits my chest.
I hate seeing her holding the last piece of Vaelis's past, that stolen fragment of his gift to me that should never have ended up in these hands. I hate knowing she profits entirely off the misery and desperation of others, collecting her monstrous treasures from the depths where hope sinks like stone.
But I look down at my own scarred hands, at the lines that tell stories of battles and survival.
I have my voice. I have my prince. The trade was worth the silver glass, worth every moment of suffering that led me here.
Oona lowers the mirror slowly, her movements deliberate. Her sensory barbels twitch in the stagnant water, tasting the air, sensing our presence, our emotions. The myriad expressions that flicker across her faceless features are unnerving, like watching shadows dance on the wall.
"The loud monster returns," Oona croaks, her voice like grinding shells. Her voice is amplifying the malevolence in her tone. "Be very careful, shark, or I will snip that new tongue right out of your throat."
The threat hangs in the water between us.
I cross my arms over my chest, the muscles tensing beneath my scarred skin. I do not flinch. Let her see the predator that stands before her, the one who has faced worse than her empty threats and survived.
Oona's eyeless head rotates slowly, the sound of her neck bones grinding like rocks in a tidepool. A wet, gurgling laugh escapes her mouth.
"And you brought the lovesick fool to my doorstep," Oona taunts, her voice slithering through the water like oil. "Look at you, former Vanguard. A jealous, faded betta-mer, all glorious fins now wilted like seaweed in the sun. You are rotting from the inside out because you could not bear the thought of losing your precious Prince to a monster. Why are you here? Do you wish to bargain for your faded beauty?"
The witch turns back to me, her sensory barbels twitching in my direction. "You are an even greater fool to help her, shark. You should have let her pass away with the tide like the useless refuse she has become. I would have found her to claim my price. She is nothing but dead weight dragging you down."
The muscles in my jaw clench as I prepare to roar, but Mira speaks first, her voice slicing through the tension like a sharpened shell.
"I do not want my beauty back," Mira says, and there's something in her tone that makes Oona's laughing cease abruptly.
Her weak voice travels across the cavern, each word carefully measured.
She releases my arm, her fingers trembling against my scarred skin, and pushes forward on her own.
"I want the time you stole from me," Mira demands, her voice growing stronger despite her failing body. "I refuse to be old and withered while I still have so much life left to live."
Oona scoffs, her webbed fingers tracing the edge of the silver mirror with obsessive tenderness. "Time cannot be reclaimed. And it was not stolen—it was offered by you in a fair trade. You wasted your own time chasing shadows, old mer."
"I know Vaelis will never be mine," Mira continues, her voice gaining a desperate strength that seems to shock even herself. "But I can't die knowing my entire existence was wasted chasing someone who never truly saw me. I have watched them together. I see the way the shark looks at him. I see the devotion in the Red Prince's golden eyes. I see what life can be like when two creatures truly love one another."
Mira raises her trembling hands, studying her gray, withered skin in the eerie green light. "I want to find that kind of love for myself," she whispers, vulnerability warring with determination. "How will I ever find it looking like this?"
The raw honesty in her words strikes me with unexpected force.
A heavy shift occurs in my chest, the kind that comes when you see a familiar enemy revealed as something else entirely.
The betta-mer is not fighting for survival—she's fighting for the chance to be seen, to be loved.
Oona throws her head back and laughs, the sound bouncing off the glass walls, amplifying its cruelty until it seems to shakethe very foundations of the cavern. "Love," the witch mocks, her voice dripping with contempt. "You mers are all the same. You trade your souls for revenge, for power, for vanity. And when the bill comes due, you weep aboutlove."
Oona swims closer, her body displacing the water with sickening slowness. Her barbels writhe like serpents tasting the air. "I have fed on the regrets of a thousand mer. I have watched brothers poison brothers over a scrap of territory. I have witnessed mothers selling their young for a handful of pearls. You are no different."
