Tale 15- The Shell-Bound Mermaids

 Anxiety filled the Traveler as she walked toward a town covered in ice, the sun blocked out by dark grey clouds, which seemed to smother and suffocate any light that seeped out. In her rush, she almost bumped into a girl holding a basket of fruit, instantly apologizing. The girl simply gave a smile and warned her to be careful of ice on the cobbles, as it was common for people to fall and hurt themselves. The Traveler nodded, continuing on slowly, as her shoes were not built for snowy landscapes. Cold as ever, she found herself by a communal bonfire, being maintained by an old man. The smell of smoke reminded her of that night, the Traveler instantly closing her eyes, sending that memory to the back of her mind. What mattered now was to ensure nothing like that ever happened again, and the only way to do so was to collect 100 stories. The old man gently approached her. “Cold?” he asked, and she nodded slightly, as he observed the material. “That cloak isn’t really built for this weather. It’s lightweight, meant to be worn as an overlay, right?. I’ll get you a blanket.” he offered, the Traveler shyly agreeing. He was clearly a tailor of some sort, since while the cloak was worn and old, it really didn’t serve her well in snow- she knew this from the first time wearing it. But, she wouldn’t take it off, it was her only layer of comfort and protection from everything around her. Deciding to read to distract herself, she pulled out the book, before noticing a slight illustration mistake and fixing it, the man reappearing and draping the blanket around her shoulders. The two sat on the large stone benches by the fire pit, the Traveler managing to completely finish the illustration of the fairy and Harper, before the man spoke. “Do you like to read?” he asked, the Traveler nodding a little. He smiled. “I heard this fascinating little legend when I was a boy, my mother told it to me. It was a story she called ‘the Shell-Bound Mermaids’.

‘Deep at the bottom of the ocean, in a trench as black as night, there lived a race of miniscule mermaids. Born in shells, much like hermit crabs, they would make their way from the bottom of the trench to the top, which would take them many years. However, when they reached the top of the trench, the sun shone down brilliantly on them, and warped them, the rays infusing into them and transforming their once beautiful forms into sea snails. Now, they roam the floor of the ocean until they reach it to the surface, where they clamber on rocks and explore crevices. Though they are different, they are happy, and accept their new forms the way they are. Their shells are still with them, so they are fundamentally the same shell-bound creatures, just with a different appearance.’

The Traveler drew the mermaids transforming, enjoying the idea that even things considered ugly could still be perceived as beautiful, and felt the flames warming her up as the wind blew the fire in her direction. Standing, she bowed toward the man, handing him the blanket, and walked away into the mist, still holding that page open.

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