Randomness @ajaxthebird - Tumblr Blog

The Siren's Song

Every creature born beneath the tides dreams of being seen. Some spend their lives chasing love, others devote themselves to wealth, beauty or the promise of a gentler future. And some… some dare to push their gaze upward towards the divine itself to dream of being noticed by a god. But dreams can turn into hungry things. The brighter they shine, the more they demand in return. Pride, dignity, morality, family… all become small offerings. In the depths of Anchordeep, where music is treasured more dearly than prayer and theatre rivals worship itself, there lived a child whose sole purpose was to be adored. To become a perfect little star.✨

Haborym: the vain one, the capricious spouse, the spoiled brat. A unique choice for Kallamar's circle of most beloved indeed... This is the tale of how they met. A meeting under the spotlight, a meeting of stars. With this, the series is finally complete!

For more, check out The Tales of the 4 Spouses: Masterpost

The Siren's Song

“As for the role of the Mermaid…”

The entire stage fell silent.

Dancers, performers, even the stagehands seemed to forget how to breathe. The three singers stood in a line before the director and the producer, waiting as though time itself had been drawn out and suspended for their sake alone.

Beads of sweat traced slow paths down their skin. An octopus, a narwhal and a dolphin each still and stiff as their limbs and fins were drawn in tightly, shoulders locked with tension, hearts hammering loud enough to drown out thought. The air itself felt oppressive, as if the theatre were holding them in its lungs.

They exchanged fleeting glances.

“Everything will be alright, no matter who is chosen,” the dolphin mouthed, lips trembling with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

Reassuring, perhaps, but hollow all the same; they had all worked for this moment, after all. Sleepless nights, relentless vocal drills, the slow erosion of certainty in pursuit of perfection. There would always be only one Mermaid.

“CRYSTAL!!”

The moment the narwhal heard her name, her polite composure broke. Her skin rippled with a surge of pure joy as she let out a cry that seemed to go far beyond the walls of the theatre and into the streets beyond.

Everyone knows that moment. The one where everything seems to move in slow motion, where the world seems to blur, where sound muffles into something incomprehensive and unreal.

That was what it felt like for Haborym.

They accepted the outcome with the poise they had been carefully trained to perform, four eyes fixed upon the unfolding celebration beside them, absorbing every detail with a stillness that did not belong to peace.

“Oh, babygirl, I am so happy for you,” they said finally as their smile held in place with exquisite precision. “You’ll bring the house down!”

“Yes! We are proud of you, Crystal,” the dolphin added brightly.

The moment dissolved quickly as the director continued calling names and assigning roles, but by then the words had become indistinct, nothing more than distant white noise beneath the roar building inside Haborym’s skull.

They had been meant for it. For the Mermaid. It belonged to them. It always had.

The octopus was still young, still unrefined, still full of promise in the way people use to excuse mediocrity. They would be told to try again, to build themselves slowly, patiently, over years. To accept the rhythm of effort and delay.

But Haborym had not been raised for delay.

—

“THIS IS SO UNFAIR!”

Like a geyser long restrained beneath stone, it burst the moment the doors closed behind them. The composure snapped cleanly, and with it, everything they had been forced to hold in place all day.

“UNFAIR. UNFAIR. UNFAIR!” they wailed, storming into the living room of their simple home where their two mothers had only just finished laying the table.

The octopus and the starfish were on their feet at once, drawn to the familiar whine reserved for nights like this.

“What happened, my little star?” one of them asked, reaching for their hand.

“What do you think happened, Mum?!” Haborym snapped, pulling away as they crossed the room and dropped into their chair with a theatrical, furious pout.

Their cheeks burned with colour, their four ember-bright eyes fixed on the place setting before them as though it were complicit in the insult.

The fish sat untouched, carefully roasted and prepared on a bed of freshly cooked kelps with a loving presentation. But to Haborym it seemed obscene.

The blank stare of the dead prey was watching with glassy beads, staring and judging in its normality. An ordinary offering laid out in front of an extraordinary humiliation. With a sharp motion of rage, they swept the plate aside and it struck the floor with a brutal crack of ceramic, scattering fish and salad across the floor boards.

“It’s all your fault!” they shouted. “You promised me I would have it. You told me I was perfect. That no one could rival me. That if I worked, if I trained, nothing would stand in my way!”

“B–but Haby, dearest…” the starfish began, voice soft with alarm, but the words were swallowed by the tantrum storm.

“I was meant to be the Mermaid!” Haborym cried, rising now, pacing the room like a caged animal. “You lied to me!”

Their voice rose higher, sharper, trembling with something far more dangerous than simple anger. “They gave it to that tone-deaf cetacean! Only because she can hit ultrasounds and smile as if that is enough!”

Their coral-hued limbs flicked against the wooden floor as they moved, agitation sending dust skittering up from the cracks beneath them.

“You have to make it right,” they said suddenly, stopping to face them both. The demand landed like a decree. “You will make sure I am the Mermaid.”

The octopus and the starfish exchanged a glance: brief, wordless, heavy with years of this cycle repeating itself in ever more unbearable forms. Then, slowly, they nodded.

“Of course, my dear,” one of them said quietly.

After all… they had not raised a child.

They had shaped an instrument.

And it was beginning to play beyond their control.

—

“That’s all wrong.”

“The hand should be slightly higher, and the little finger lifted exactly as it is in the illustration.”

“And that tentacle: an inch to the left. The pose is unbalanced otherwise.”

“Indeed. Chin higher now.” A brief pause followed. “Remember: you are perfection, and you should carry yourself accordingly.”

“Yes, always keep it in mind, dear. You embody perfection.”

Since the day they were born, Haborym’s existence could scarcely be called a life. It was closer to a group project carefully directed by too many hands.

Their mothers, Octavia and Malina, were humble farmers from the furthest reaches of the coral reefs, members of a close-knit community that found comfort in the quiet predictability of agriculture. Their neighbours were content with muddy fields, modest harvests and uneventful futures.

But Octavia and Malina had always wanted more, far more than anyone else in that forgotten corner of Anchordeep.

While their limbs sank elbow-deep into wet sand and sea soil, their minds wandered endlessly towards the splendour of the Cult Grounds: the radiant heart of the kingdom where the God resided, and where ancient families glided through marble halls draped in silk and pearls.

Elegant fish with jewelled hands wrapped around porcelain teacups lined in gold.

Creatures who never had to toil, never had to kneel in dirt, never had to wonder whether next season’s crops would survive the tide.

That was the life.

That was the life they deserved.

But the octopus and the starfish had been born too late, too poor, and far too ordinary to ever claw their way into such circles on their own merit. They had tried, of course, desperately even.

They travelled to the city whenever they could afford the journey. They attempted to reinvent themselves as artists, performers, patrons of culture, anything that might draw even a passing glance from the God of Pestilence.

But they possessed neither refinement nor genuine talent so the cold, divine blue gaze they longed for so desperately had always passed over them as though they were no more significant than drifting plankton.

Eventually, reality should have settled in.

The gates of that resplendent world were never meant to open for creatures like them.

Their families certainly thought so and the ridicule alone should have been enough to shame them into abandoning their fantasies, yet neither Octavia nor Malina seemed capable of surrendering the dream entirely.

Not while they still had one final opportunity.

That was how “Project Haborym" began.

Not with love.

Not truly.

But with ambition sharpened into devotion.

The very moment they cracked through the eggshell, the little octopus was subjected to scrutiny.

“That’s not quite the right shade of blue… they might have been more teal if you had eaten more southern kelp during the pregnancy.”

“Oh, really? And if you had not drowned every meal in salt, perhaps they would not have four eyes instead of four arms!”

“That is rich coming from you, Octi. Those red markings are entirely from your side of the family.”

According to their new mothers, there was always something slightly incorrect about the child.

Not defective, no.

Simply… not perfect enough.

But enough for what, exactly?

Most nurseries were made to be cheerful: painted walls, colourful toys, soft fabrics and all the small comforts meant to nurture a happy childhood. Haborym’s room, however, resembled something far stranger.

Every wall was a small temple covered in portraits of the God of Pestilence.

Paintings. Sketches. Religious illustrations painstakingly copied from prayer books and old theatre posters. Some depicted him draped across lavish couches beneath silken robes; others showed him poised upon grand altars, limbs elegantly outstretched beneath adoring crowds.

Where another child might have grown up surrounded by plushies and storybooks, Haborym grew up beneath the ever-watchful gaze of divinity.

For in their foolish devotion, Octavia and Malina had attempted something absurd: they tried to recreate Kallamar through their child.

They dressed Haborym in colours that mirrored his robes. Corrected the way they stood, the way they tilted their head, even the way they smiled. Tiny hands and tentacles were adjusted into carefully rehearsed poses whilst their mothers hovered nearby with sketches and portraits for comparison.

“No, no, darling. Softer around the eyes.”

“He never slouches.”

“Again.”

As they grew older and began attending school, questions arose naturally.

“Baby, you are not like the other children,” Octavia told them one evening, pulling them fondly into her arms.

“That’s right,” Malina added at once, stroking their cheek reassuringly. “You are destined for far greater things.”

“What does it matter if the others learn how to till fields, sew, cook or harvest kelp?” Octavia scoffed. “You will never need such peasant skills.”

“When you become a disciple of our Lord of Pestilence,” Malina continued dreamily, “we shall live amongst the Cult Grounds themselves, served and attended for every need.”

The little octopus tilted their head.

There was nothing vacant in those sunset-coloured eyes. Curiosity lived there already and intelligence too. Their coral tentacles twitched softly as they listened.

“You see?” one mother said, gesturing towards a portrait hanging proudly on the wall. “He adores his own image. Statues, paintings, songs written in his honour… There is nothing the God loves more than himself.”

“So if you become like him,” the other continued, “he will adore you as well.”

“And once he notices you,” Octavia whispered with absolute certainty, “he will never let you go.”

“You shall be rich beyond measure.”

“Famous, revered!.”

“Beloved.”

“Imagine a magnificent home, clothes designed for you only, jewels beyond counting, banquets prepared by the finest chefs in all of Anchordeep…”

“Wouldn’t you like that life?”

Haborym looked from one mother to the other, their young mind visibly turning behind those four bright eyes.

Then, slowly, they nodded.

“Oh, our precious little star…”

Both mothers wrapped their limbs around the child in a suffocating embrace.

“We shall begin singing and dancing lessons immediately.”

So the young octopus spent their childhood learning how to become someone they had never truly known, someone they had only heard of through stories, songs and obsessive praise. Truthfully, Haborym hardly even prayed.

Because this grotesque undertaking had never truly been about faith.

It was greed dressed in devotion.

As the years passed and the little octopus grew into a striking young creature, the pageants began. Then came the theatre productions, the singing recitals, the endless performances forced beneath bright lights and watchful eyes.

Yet much to Octavia and Malina’s frustration, their child could never truly resemble Kallamar.

Not no matter how tightly they bound their features to imitate his smile. Not no matter how often they filed down their small horns. Not no matter how carefully they copied his posture, his gestures, the cadence of his voice.

Haborym remained stubbornly, unmistakably themself and the supposed failure started breeding arguments, daily ones.

The octopus and the starfish blamed one another ceaselessly for every perceived flaw in their child’s appearance, neither quite capable of grasping the very simple reality that genetics could not be bullied into their vision.

Still, they adapted eventually, and when imitation failed, they shifted their ambitions towards performance.

For Haborym, while not extraordinary, possessed something undeniably valuable: talent. Moderate talent, certainly, but enough to impress and enough to be noticed… yet, never enough to become unforgettable.

That was the problem: Haborym was always second-best. Praised warmly, applauded generously, yet forever eclipsed by someone brighter, someone more gifted, someone easier to adore.

Good, but never quite good enough.

Octavia and Malina refused to accept that as final.

This miserable rural corner of Anchordeep was simply incapable of recognising true greatness! That was the conclusion they reached to preserve their pride: these provincial simpletons could never understand the brilliance they had cultivated.

So they made one final investment.

They sold the family farm, pawned every heirloom and abandoned the only life they had ever known to move into the cheapest flat they could afford in the Cult Grounds, where Haborym could train beneath esteemed vocal masters and, one day, join the greatest theatre troupes in all of Anchordeep.

Neither Octavia nor Malina possessed any marketable skill beyond desperation so they drifted endlessly between lowly jobs: kitchen work, laundry houses, cleaning crews, market stalls; enduring humiliation after humiliation merely to keep themselves afloat within the glittering cruelty of the bright city.

Meanwhile, Haborym was forbidden from working as their sole responsibility was preparation.

So as their mothers exhausted themselves in service to wealthier creatures, Haborym spent their days singing scales, memorising Kallamar’s favourite arias, studying old recordings and attending dance lessons until their limbs trembled with fatigue.

The irony was almost laughable.

The women who had once despised labour now worked harder than they ever had upon the farms. But they endured it gladly, because one day, their child would stand above every single one of them, and of course, so would they.

And when Haborym was finally accepted into the most prestigious troupe within the Cult Grounds, cast in Kallamar’s most beloved musical, The Little Mermaid, the dream at last felt close enough to taste.

The story itself was rather straightforward, though like all tales favoured by the God of Pestilence, it brimmed with consuming passion, tragic romance, suffering, temptation, and, ultimately, a form of happiness twisted enough to satisfy divine taste.

The musical followed the story of a young mermaid: a breathtaking creature with the delicate upper features of a brilliantly coloured axolotl and the sleek lower body of a graceful cetacean. Her voice was said to possess an almost supernatural charm, capable of luring any creature into blind adoration.

She fell in love with a lander.

The Dog Prince appeared to embody everything she longed for: freedom, beauty and escape from the suffocating depths of Anchordeep. Blinded by longing, she defied her father’s commands and sought out an infamous octopus witch hidden within the Shipwrecks.

The bargain was simple: her enchanted voice in exchange for a body capable of surviving on land.

Once ashore, however, the dream soured quickly.

The prince she had idealised after a single fleeting encounter proved vain, selfish, and deeply cruel. The little mermaid adored him with desperate sincerity whilst he treated her as nothing more than a passing amusement, something exotic to flaunt briefly before discarding.

And eventually, he did exactly that: he abandoned her upon the same shoreline where their paths had first crossed, leaving her broken and alone beneath unfamiliar skies while he married another.

Desperate and grieving, the mermaid begged the sea to take her back, but without her voice, she could not reach the ocean’s heart, so instead, she offered blood.

In one of the musical’s most infamous scenes, she severed the very legs she had sacrificed everything to obtain, staining the tide crimson with her suffering. The offering awakened the octopus witch, who emerged once more from the depths, moved by admiration for such sacrifice.

And so the witch restored both her mermaid form and her enchanted voice.

The following ending, however, did not exist in the original script, but was added entirely by Kallamar himself.

For the God of Pestilence had always despised tragedies that ended in meek sorrow. Great suffering, in his vision, deserved catharsis and justice. So the mermaid, reborn in fury and grief, used her voice to lure the Prince into the sea.

Bewitched beyond reason, he followed willingly, hopelessly enamoured by the very creature he had destroyed. Once in her loving arms, she drowned him and devoured his heart beneath the waves.

A far better ending, according to Kallamar, and naturally, no playwright in Anchordeep would ever dare disagree with a God.

Haborym had learnt the script word for word. They had listened to the songs since infancy, singing along to ancient recordings of their god’s voice while their mothers corrected every note, every gesture, every breath late into the night.

They were born to be the mermaid! And now? The dream had been shattered by the rotten judgement of a producer.

No.

No, they would make this right.

Week One

Rehearsals quickly swallowed the troupe’s days.

With only a handful of weeks remaining before opening night, every performer was expected to sink fully into their role until it clung to them like a second skin. Scripts passed from hand to hand whilst tailors hurried through the theatre taking measurements, pinning fabrics and preparing lavish costumes for fitting.

Crystal thrived beneath it all as her smile seemed to brighten the stage itself when she rehearsed with the orchestra; fuelled by the thrill of carrying such a prestigious role on her shoulders. Confidence sharpened her posture, excitement lifted her voice higher and brighter with every passing day.

Haborym watched from the wings with their sweetest smile carefully fixed into place as they skimmed through their own script.

The Octopus Witch.

Of course they would cast an actual octopus for the role.

The part itself was entertaining enough, dramatic and memorable in its own right, but that was hardly the point.

There was only ever one Mermaid.

Meanwhile, the theatre transformed around them in preparation for the production. Backdrops were painted, props assembled, costumes embroidered and entire sections of the stage rebuilt to accommodate the grandeur expected from Kallamar’s favourite performances.

The producer had begun hiring additional workers to keep pace with the mounting demands: simple labourers, just quiet hands capable of carrying scenery, stitching fabrics and cleaning rehearsal halls without complaint.

Like a modest starfish and an unremarkable octopus with little education and a very pressing need for work.

Week Two

The announcement arrived precisely as everyone had expected: Lord Kallamar and his entourage would attend the première of The Little Mermaid.

Though hardly surprising, excitement tore through the theatre like the sting of an electric eel and the troupe buzzed with nervous anticipation for the remainder of the day.

Everyone wanted to impress him.

Everyone wanted to be seen.

Crystal, especially, seemed to glow beneath at the news.

That afternoon, whilst rehearsing one of the Mermaid’s central songs, she stood centre-stage with beaming confidence, her voice flowing smoothly alongside the orchestra…

Until the director abruptly slammed his cane against the floor.

“Crystal, dear!” he snapped. “What exactly are you singing?”

The narwhal faltered mid-note, startled.

“The lyrics are wrong, again.”

Confusion spread instantly across her face as she hurriedly grabbed her script, flipping through the pages with growing panic.

“B-but I’m only following the—”

“We distributed these scripts weeks ago,” the director interrupted sharply. “This is yet another time I have caught you singing incorrect lines. I excused your stumbling during the first week, but by now I expect the songs to be memorised properly.”

“I—I don’t understand… I thought—”

“Take a moment and collect yourself,” he sighed, rubbing at his temple whilst the colourful fins framing his face twitched with irritation. Even seasoned professionals felt the strain of preparing a performance beneath the gaze of the God of Pestilence himself.

Humiliated, Crystal lowered her head and slipped backstage, desperately skimming through the lyrics she sang.

“Are you alright, babygirl?”

She looked up to find Haborym approaching with gentle concern painted across their features and the offer of a steaming cup of tea balanced delicately between their tentacles.

“…Yes. I think so, thank you.” Crystal forced a nervous smile and accepted the drink, breathing in the fragrant scent of ginger and green tea. “I must have been given the wrong version somehow…”

“May I?” Haborym asked softly, extending a hand towards the script.

Crystal passed it over without hesitation.

The octopus skimmed through the pages before tilting their head sympathetically.

“Oh my… yes, this is an older revision.” Their expression darkened with perfectly measured indignation. “Some careless fool must have mixed the scripts together. Honestly, that is appalling.”

“Mistakes happen to everyone, Haby.” Crystal’s shoulders relaxed slightly as she sipped the tea.

“Not here. Not now.” Haborym’s voice sharpened almost imperceptibly. “And certainly not to YOU.”

The narwhal blinked.

“You are the star, Crystal,” they continued warmly. “The God of Pestilence himself shall be seated in that audience and he will notice every movement you make, every note and every word.”

Their smile remained flawless.

“This is his favourite musical. If even a single thing feels out of place… he will know by heart.”

Crystal swallowed hard as a bead of sweat rolled slowly down the back of her neck whilst her fins trembled faintly.

“But truly, you have nothing to fear or be nervous about,” Haborym added sweetly. “You are absolutely perfect.”

The word landed strangely heavy.

“Here,” they continued smoothly, offering her another stack of pages. “Take my script instead. Mine is definitely the newest version.”

“Oh, Haby, are you sure?”

“Of course, babygirl! The Witch’s role didn’t change between revisions, so I can manage perfectly well with the older copy.”

They gave a light laugh before adding: “Just ignore the notes in the margins. I tend to leave myself good advice to follow during rehearsals.”

“Oh! Thank you!” Crystal smiled at last, visibly relieved as she clutched the script to her chest. “You’re a lifesaver. I’m going to start revising immediately.”

“You are most welcome.”

Haborym’s smile never wavered as they watched her disappear towards the dressing rooms.

“After all… I want this musical to be an overwhelming success.”

Week Three

“It is perfectly natural to feel nervous, but we’ll have a rather serious issue if you cannot fit into the costume.”

The tailor’s voice remained patient, though concern had begun creeping into her expression as she struggled to fasten the intricate lacing of Crystal’s mermaid tail.

The narwhal stared down in horror as soft rolls of flesh pressed between the tightened strings.

“The measurements must be wrong!” she said quickly, panic rising in her voice. “I swear I haven’t eaten more than usual…”

“We took your measurements together only last week, Crystal.” The tailor adjusted the fabric carefully, trying not to pull too harshly. “And truly, don’t starve yourself over this. Bodies fluctuate and you are gorgeous, but alterations take extra time we might not have going forward. We must try to remain consistent from now on.”

She glanced down at the glittering green tail spread across the fitting platform.

“Your costume is the centrepiece of the entire production. We want it to be perfect.”

“S-sure… yes, of course.”

Crystal lowered her gaze towards the measurements sheet resting nearby.

The numbers neatly written in pencil, had increased.

Only slightly, yet they still felt monstrous.

Across the workshop, a starfish lady quietly organised colourful bolts of fabric on the shelves while softly humming to herself, a small pleased smile lingering upon her lips.

The first full costume rehearsal arrived soon after.

Performers crowded backstage draped in shimmering silks, sequins and layered fabrics, laughing excitedly as they tested movements, carried props and admired one another beneath the warm theatre lights.

Everyone had arrived in costume.

Everyone except the Mermaid.

Crystal lingered awkwardly near the mirrors as her eyes darted anxiously across the room.

The other singers looked radiant.

Haborym, in particular, cut a striking figure beneath the dim lights, their Octopus Witch robes dripping with black and violet sequins that shimmered like oil across water. Beside them stood Jani, the dolphin cast as the Mermaid’s crab companion, proudly sporting a structured scarlet satin costume complete with decorative claws and additional articulated limbs.

The pair exchanged compliments and easy laughter with the rest of the troupe until, inevitably, attention shifted.

“Oh?” Jani tilted his head innocently. “Where is your costume, Crystal?”

The narwhal stiffened.

“Ah… it is not quite ready for fitting yet,” she replied with a strained smile.

“What a pity,” the dolphin sighed dramatically. “I was terribly excited to see it.”

“You can’t rush perfection,” Haborym interjected smoothly before Crystal could answer further.

Their tone was warm and reassuring.

Too reassuring.

“The Mermaid’s costume is by far the most important piece in the production,” they continued. “Naturally it requires more adjustments than the rest of ours.”

“Yes. Exactly!” Crystal nodded far too quickly.

“And the tail itself is such an unforgiving fit,” Haborym added lightly, almost laughing as they adjusted one of their sleeves. “One extra sardine, one inch at the hips, and the entire silhouette is completely thrown off. It takes so little to go from Little Mermaid to wriggling seal in a tight net, am I right?”

The room fell just slightly quieter.

Not enough to seem intentional.

Just enough.

Crystal swallowed visibly.

“O-oh… yes. Ah ah, you are right…”

Her voice had become noticeably smaller.

“Well!” she added suddenly, forcing brightness back into her tone. “I believe my cue is coming up. I should get into position.”

Without waiting for a response, the narwhal hurried towards the stage, cheeks burning dark with humiliation.

Haborym watched her go with an expression of perfect sympathy.

Then slowly lowered their gaze towards the floor-length mirror beside them and adjusted the fall of their sleeve with delicate precision.

Week Four

By the second time Crystal arrived over an hour late to rehearsal within the same week, breathless, dishevelled and visibly panicked, irritation had begun spreading openly through the theatre.

The rehearsals could not proceed without the Mermaid. Entire scenes had to be halted or moved altogether while dozens of performers, musicians and stage workers stood around wasting precious hours waiting for her arrival.

Crystal blamed the schedule. Again.

She swore the rehearsal sheets had listed a different time and that amounted to yet another misunderstanding. Yet another mistake that somehow never seemed to be hers.

Amongst the troupe, resentment began growing quietly beneath the surface. Who did Crystal think she was? Yes, securing the lead role was important, but that hardly meant she could do whatever she pleased as the rest of them worked themselves raw.

“Her ego is becoming waaay too inflated,” muttered a pufferfish choreographer backstage whilst adjusting a dancer’s posture.

“Much like her arse,” a moray dancer added dryly. “I heard the tailors had to alter her costume AGAIN.”

“Oh dear…” another sighed. “We have nearly fifty performers in this production, each with their own fittings. The costume department cannot exist solely for the Mermaid. I can hardly move in my conch shell but you don’t see me complaining!”

An octopus lady carrying a mop and a bucket paused nearby upon hearing the conversation. She hesitated briefly before leaning in with visible uncertainty.

“I should not speak out of turn…” she began carefully, “but as I was cleaning, I overheard the producer say something concerning."

The dancers exchanged curious glances and the octopus lowered her voice.

“Apparently one of His Grace’s personal disciples will be visiting the theatre soon to inspect the production before opening night.”

Several faces paled immediately.

“We are not supposed to know,” she continued nervously, “but if the performance fails to meet the Lord’s standards…”

“If Lord Kallamar is displeased,” the octopus continued, “the entire troupe could suffer for it. I-I can’t afford to lose this job…”

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

“I have eggs ready to hatch,” the pufferfish said shakily. “If this production collapses, no theatre will hire us again, we’ll become homeless.”

“Ruining His Grace’s favourite musical would absolutely blacklist us,” the moray muttered.

“Blacklist?” another performer scoffed bitterly. “That would be merciful. The General could banish us to the Shipwrecks for the affront.”

Someone else added: “We’ll all end up dancing in some filthy club for drunk fish.”

The conversation spiralled rapidly from there as more dancers joined in and then stagehands, the seamstresses, singers and musicians.

Fear spread through the theatre far faster than a fire ever could, and by the time rehearsal ended that evening, every single person in the building had heard the supposedly confidential rumour.

The octopus cleaning woman, meanwhile, had long since disappeared back into the corridors carrying her bucket and mop as though nothing had happened at all.

—

As the days passed, Crystal found herself increasingly isolated and invitations ceased.

Conversations died the moment she approached and the others no longer saw her recent mishaps as unfortunate accidents but as dangerous incompetence capable of putting their futures at stake.

Still, thankfully, she was not entirely alone as Jani and Haborym remained by her side as steadfast allies.

“Guys, I think I’m losing my mind,” Crystal groaned, nearly shouting the words over the music. “I swear I’m not doing anything wrong!”

The three performers sat together inside The Golden Shell, a newly opened club tucked within the theatre district. Warm amber lights reflected against polished coral walls whilst music pulsed heavily through the crowded room.

Jani had insisted the outing would help clear Crystal’s head, but instead, she looked seconds away from a breakdown.

“It is only pressure, babygirl,” Haborym soothed gently, resting a comforting hand upon her shoulder. “Anyone in your position would struggle under this sort of expectation. A mistake or two is perfectly natural…”

A brief pause.

“…Or four.”

“B-but this never happened before!” Crystal whined, clutching her drink tightly. “At this point I’m beginning to think I’m cursed!”

“Oh, please,” Jani laughed, trying unsuccessfully to lighten the mood. “There are no curses. You are simply stressed. Perhaps some calming herbs or sleep infusions would help?”

Crystal stared at him in disbelief.

“You cannot be serious.”

Her voice sharpened immediately.

“I am a professional performer. I have done this for years! Do you honestly think I would suddenly start forgetting schedules, singing the wrong lyrics and not fitting into my own costumes like that?”

Her breathing grew uneven.

“Someone is doing this to me.What if there is an evil witch after all? There’s no other explanation."

“Crystal,” Haborym interrupted softly before she could spiral further, “please try to think rationally.”

They leaned forward slightly.

“This production is different. The Mermaid is THE role in musical theatre. And on top of that, you shall perform before our God himself.”

“Exactly,” Jani added, irritation beginning to seep into his voice. “Everyone here is terrified. Not just you.”

His gaze flicked briefly towards Haborym.

“This production matters to all of us…It will be the chance of a lifetime even for those of us without starring roles like Haby and I.”

“We are all frightened, babygirl," Haborym murmured sympathetically, rubbing their tentacles together. “Every single one of us.”

“No… I understand that.” Crystal stared down into her drink, watching the liquid swirl weakly inside the glass. “But I see the way the others look at me now.”

Her voice dropped lower.

“They hate me.”

Neither of the others responded immediately.

“They want me to fail,” she whispered. “They want to watch me humiliated.”

Jani finally exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Oh, for Blight’s sake.” His patience had clearly snapped. “Who in their right mind would sabotage the entire production and risk everyone’s careers simply because they dislike you?”

“I don’t know!” Crystal shot back.

Then her eyes narrowed, staring him down.

“…Someone jealous of my talent, perhaps.”

Silence.

Jani stared back at her for several long seconds before abruptly standing up, his tail slamming harshly against the floor.

“Right. That is enough.”

Several nearby patrons glanced over briefly.

“I defended you,” the dolphin hissed. “I told everyone you were simply overwhelmed. But clearly the Mermaid believes herself too important to admit she can make mistakes like the rest of us peasants.”

He extended a hand towards Haborym.

“Come along, Haby. Before she accuses us of stealing her voice like the evil witch."

The octopus tilted their head sadly before accepting his hand and rising gracefully to their feet.

“Crystal…” they sighed softly, genuine concern painted beautifully across their features. “Please take care of your mental health before anything else.”

And with that final piece of advice, both performers disappeared back into the crowd, leaving the narwhal sitting alone at the table.

Crystal stared blankly down at her untouched drink whilst tears slid silently down her cheeks.

She was alone now.

Completely alone.

Around her, the club roared with music and laughter, yet everything suddenly felt impossibly distant.

Perhaps they were right.

Perhaps none of this was real.

Perhaps she truly was losing her mind.

Week Five

One week remained before the première.

One final week to prove to everyone that she was not a liability.

By then, Crystal isolated herself from the world around her. The growing certainty that someone was deliberately sabotaging her had rooted itself too deeply to be ignored. She trusted no one anymore.

Not the cast. Not the staff. Not even herself.

But everything would be fine once opening night passed and once the damn musical succeeded and once she survived this nightmare. At least, that was what she kept telling herself, but mistrust, when fed long enough, inevitably rots into paranoia.

She ran to the director claiming someone had broken into her dressing room. When he sent security to check, the locks showed no signs of tampering and nothing had been stolen or destroyed.

Yet Crystal insisted that someone had been there! She believed her hairbrush was slightly out of place, that the powder jars turned at different angles and costume notes were crooked by an inch or less.

Tiny things, so tiny that her credibility, already hanging by a thin thread, started to plummet even lower that cast members avoided her off stage altogether so they wouldn't be accused by the diva.

She no longer had anyone willing to reassure her, even to believe her and no one left to offer good advice.

Good advice.

“Just ignore the notes in the margins. I tend to leave myself good advice to follow during rehearsals.”

The memory struck her suddenly.

Haborym’s script! Perhaps there was something useful hidden amongst those notes after all.

Desperate for anything that might steady her spiralling thoughts, Crystal snatched the borrowed script from her dressing table and began hurriedly flipping through the pages.

As they told her, she had ignored the scribbled annotations for weeks but now she read every single one with thirsty stares.

Most appeared sound enough: breathing exercises, vocal scales, posture reminders, tiny adjustments meant to preserve stamina during demanding songs.

Useful, professional tips and tricks of the trade that truly comforted her. Haborym might have been young, but they clearly understood performance discipline far better than most performers their age. Crystal found herself smiling at that thought, they had such a bright future ahead.

Then one particular note caught her attention.

It had been written larger than the others beside the Sea Witch’s song: the number performed when she tears away the Mermaid’s voice from her throat, the role’s most iconic and challenging piece.

Do not forget tea before this scene.

Two spoons dried red kelp. (grocery)

One spoon black tea leaves. (grocery)

Two spoons medicinal algae. (apothecary)

Excellent for lungs and vocal clarity.

Crystal stared at the recipe for several long moments.

Practical. Simple. Helpful.

Exactly the sort of good practice a dedicated singer would do.

—

“What do you mean you cannot sing?!”

The director’s voice cracked violently through the theatre.

Rehearsal had stopped entirely.

Performers and stagehands flooded silently from backstage corridors, drawn towards the unfolding disaster at centre-stage.

Crystal stood beneath the rehearsal lights trembling violently. Her Mermaid costume strained awkwardly against swollen skin whilst her face—

Good Lord of Pestilence.

Her face looked horrifying: red, puffy and inflamed beyond recognition; so much even the pufferfish ensemble stared at her with visible alarm. Tears streamed endlessly from her burning eyes while every attempted word emerged as nothing more than broken wheezes and mutilated syllables.

Her throat had nearly closed entirely.

“That is enough!”

The director slammed his cane against the wooden stage so harshly the crack echoed through the theatre as he hurled the script onto the floor.

“The role of the Mermaid is being reassigned.”

Crystal tried desperately to protest but only muffled gargling sounds escaped her ruined throat.

“I admired your voice,” the director snapped coldly as he climbed onto the stage. “I wanted you to succeed. But admiration is worthless without reliability.”

He stopped directly before her.

“We cannot afford failure this time.”

The entire cast watched in frozen silence.

“I require professionalism,” he continued sharply. “I require stability. Now go to the hospital and get out of my sight before your face swells shut entirely.”

Humiliation crashed over Crystal all at once. With a strangled cry of pain, she stumbled offstage, tears blurring her vision—

Until she spotted Haborym waiting nearby.

The octopus immediately stepped forward, opening their arms in concern.

“Oh, babygirl…” they talked softly. “Are you alright? Come, let us get you to a doctor!”

But Crystal recoiled violently.

Her trembling hands snatched the script from beneath her arm before she frantically flipped through the pages until she reached the note.

That note.

Her swollen finger jabbed furiously towards the scribbled recipe and Haborym looked down, then slowly blinked.

“Oh no…” they commented flatly, bringing a hand delicately towards their mouth.

“Please do not tell me you actually drank that.”

Crystal froze.

“Everyone knows dried red kelp becomes toxic when mixed with medicinal algae, or were you so focused on your own drama that you forgot?” they continued gently.

A pause.

“…but of course, it is not toxic for octopi.”

Realisation appeared on Crystal’s expression all at once as Haborym tilted their head almost sympathetically.

“Did I not tell you to ignore my notes, babygirl?”

And for the first time since they had met, the edge of something ugly curled visibly at the corner of their smile.

“It looks as if… in the end of the story, the one sabotaging you, is no one but yourself.”

Then, from the stage behind them:

“Haborym!”

The director’s voice rang sharply through the theatre.

“You shall take over the role of the Mermaid.”

Silence.

Then crashing applause erupted throughout the rehearsal hall.

Crystal stared in horror as the octopus slowly turned, and with the grace of a serpent among water they walked towards the blinding stage lights.

And smiled.

The Little Mermaid

Première night arrived at last, and Haborym could feel victory beneath every measured step of their tentacles.

The stage remained hidden behind heavy blue velvet curtains whilst the theatre beyond buzzed with anticipation. Hundreds of muffled voices buzzed together into a distant hum, separated from them by nothing more than layers of fabric and darkness.

Beyond that curtain awaited their destiny.

Haborym could feel their mothers stare from the shadows of the wings. Octavia and Malina lingered half-hidden amongst ropes, props and stage machinery, their proud eyes tracking the octopus’ every movement like starving creatures finally witnessing a feast laid before them.

They had done it, quietly and patiently.

They had worked themselves to the bone to make this moment possible, just as they had promised all those years ago. All of it had led here, to their little star shining on stage and radiating with the glory they deserved.

Haborym’s heart thundered violently inside their chest for what felt like an eternity… Then the orchestra began.

The first haunting notes echoed through the theatre as the crowd gradually fell silent beneath the dimming lights. A narrator’s voice broke through the grand hall, rich and dramatic.

“This is the story of a young mermaid whose voice could stir the very heart of the ocean.”

A pause.

“This is the story of her love.”

Another.

“This is the story of her sorrow.”

Slowly, the curtains began to part.

“This is the story of her triumph.”

Golden stage lights spilled across painted coral reefs, towering kelp props and fractured shipwreck scenery glimmering beneath artificial seawater reflections.

The mermaid tail glittered like emeralds when the spotlight touched them and they narrowed their eyes briefly against the sudden brightness.

And then… they saw Him.

Lord Kallamar sat within the grand elevated balcony positioned at the centre of the theatre, surrounded by his two spouses, his General, his disciples and heavily armed guards. The balcony itself resembled a throne of exquisitely sculpted marble suspended above the audience, draped in white velvet and gold.

It was the first time Haborym had ever seen him this closely.

Their mothers had dragged them to sermons, of course, but poor creatures remained confined to the distant back rows where divinity blurred into little more than a stain of teal and movement.

Now, however…

Now they could see everything: the legendary blue eyes, the graceful curves of his posture, the impossibly elegant lines of his features. Beauty clung to him with almost violent intensity, magnetic and unnatural enough to make the surrounding creatures seem dull by comparison.

Kallamar leaned forward eagerly upon his couch, visibly excited for the performance to begin.

And for one terrifying moment, Haborym nearly missed their cue entirely because suddenly they understood something horrifying: their mothers had been completely delusional.

No mortal creature could ever resemble that.

No amount of training, grooming or obsession could recreate divine beauty.

But strangely enough the revelation did not discourage them! Quite the opposite, in fact: the game had suddenly become far more interesting and the prize infinitely more valuable.

Eyes on the prize.

So Haborym performed.

They sang beautifully, moved flawlessly and followed the production with meticulous precision, hitting every cue exactly as rehearsed. The audience applauded enthusiastically whilst the director watched with visible relief from the wings.

But the mermaid cared for none of it.

None of those people mattered.

Only Him.

And He… was bored.

They watched Kallamar smiling politely throughout the performance, nodding along to familiar songs as his lips mouthed the lyrics beneath his breath.

But the enthusiasm was hollow as every now and then, the God leaned sideways to murmur something to one of his spouses rather than watch the stage. At one point, he even stifled what looked dangerously close to a yawn behind elegant fingers.

He was not captivated.

Not enchanted.

Not moved.

Haborym’s stomach twisted violently.

Their voice had not reached him.

And suddenly, beneath the blazing lights of the stage, surrounded by applause and admiration, the octopus concluded: this was a disaster.

It was during the intermission before the final act that Haborym stormed into their dressing room, breath uneven and mind racing desperately for a solution.Their mothers hurried after them and quickly locked the door.

“You are doing wonderfully!” Octavia insisted at once, her voice trembling with anxious reassurance. “The director looked so pleased!”

“And tomorrow you shall be famous,” Malina added breathlessly. “Just imagine what the critics will writ—”

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THE DIRECTOR OR THE CRITICS!”

The scream cracked through the small room so violently both mothers jolted and their tentacles curled beneath them.

“Did you not see HIS face?!” Haborym snarled. “He is bored! This entire performance is boring! The script is dull, the songs are stale and I cannot work miracles with this pathetic material!”

The tantrum crashed over them like a tidal wave.

“B-but darling…” Octavia tried carefully, “we have done everything we possibly could…”

“Perhaps His Grace simply is not in the mood tonight,” Malina offered weakly. “Maybe something else is occupying his thou—”

“The only thing occupying his thoughts tonight should be ME!”

Haborym hurled the script onto the floor before slamming one furious tentacle down upon it hard enough to rattle the vanity mirrors.

“I did not work my way through all of this just to fail now!”

“But we did all the wor—”

“Shut up, Mum!”

Silence fell instantly.

Even the orchestra filtering faintly through the walls seemed distant for a moment.

Haborym stood breathing hard as their chest rose and fell rapidly while panic creeped behind all four amber eyes.

“The final song…”

Their voice dropped quieter.

“The Mermaid’s final song.”

They turned sharply towards the elaborate costume hanging nearby: the so-called Victory Dress, a breathtaking gown covered entirely in shimmering Anchordeep crystals that reflected silver and blue beneath the dressing-room lights like crystalline seawater. It symbolised the triumph of the mermaid, the ultimate glory of the ocean over land.

“He wrote it,” Haborym whispered.

Their hands immediately began fastening the gown onto themselves with frantic precision whilst the remaining minutes before curtain call ticked away mercilessly.

“If he dislikes the way I sing his song…” they muttered, struggling with one of the clasps, “then none of this matters. I shall remain forgettable forever… MEDIOCRE EVEN!”

The word itself felt unbearable.

“Well…” Octavia began timidly, trying to soothe the rising hysteria, “perhaps once you become famous, you will eventually be invited to Court and sing just for him and perform it exactly the way he likes…”

Haborym suddenly stopped moving.

Just for him…

All four eyes blinked slowly.

The way he likes…

Then the realisation struck them so violently they nearly laughed.

“Oh.”

Their lips curled upward.

“Oh, I have gone about this entirely the wrong way.”

Before either mother could react, Haborym snatched a pen from the vanity table and hastily scribbled something onto a scrap of paper. They tore it free and shoved it into Malina’s hands.

“We still have one chance.”

Both mothers stared down at the note in confusion.

“Take this to the Maestro,” Haborym ordered urgently. “Make sure she follows these instructions exactly.”

Octavia frowned. “But darling—”

“I do not care what it takes,” Haborym interrupted coldly. “Threaten to burn down her home. Threaten her family. Bribe her, I truly could not care less.”

Their voice sharpened dangerously.

“She must follow that instruction to the letter.”

The mothers continued staring blankly at the paper.

Haborym’s eye twitched.

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” they shrieked suddenly. “GO!”

The two ladies scrambled from the room immediately and the door slammed shut behind them.

Haborym smiled with genuine anticipation.

The Final Act

The final act began beneath a suffocating silence.

Every single cast member, director, producer and stagehand was holding their breath as the curtain was about to open once again. No words or good wishes were exchanged, no unnecessary encouragement but only a silence rich with nothing but anticipation for the awaited climax.

They all watched with muted reverence, heads lowered in respect as Haborym filed past them making their way centre stage for the last time, to perform the last song and bring ultimate victory to the mermaid.

As the warm lights started spilling again through the parting velvet curtains, one single figure stood starkly against the scenery.

The stage had transformed into the shoreline once more with artificial dawn light painted over waves whilst pale fabrics rippled overhead to imitate the ocean currents. At the centre of the stage stood Haborym, draped in the Victory Dress, crystals shimmering across their body like scales kissed by the last starlight.

The Mermaid was standing over a glittering puddle of crimson crystals symbolising her suffering and sacrifice.

She came back to the sea where she belonged, betrayed, mutilated but reborn.

And now…

Now it was time to sing her last song.

The orchestra lifted their instruments while musicians exchanged wary glances, the conductor raised her baton with fingers trembling and back fin shaking.

The first note rang through the theatre.

Several musicians visibly faltered making tiny mistakes. Barely noticeable to untrained ears.

But enough, because the song had started in the wrong key.

A lower one.

A richer one.

One that this troupe had never rehearsed before.

Confusion spread quietly through the cast and staff members backstage, while the director snapped upright in horror.

“What are they doing?” he hissed, barely containing his yell. But it was too late to stop now, interrupting the music would mean incompetence! What would the critics say? What would the God say?!

A dancer rushed to grab him as he was about to faint and dragged him on a chair while the orchestra kept playing.

At centre-stage, Haborym slowly lifted their gaze, all four eyes challenged the bright spotlight to direct their gaze towards Kallamar’s balcony.

Eyes on the prize.

Then they began to sing.

Not like before, not for the audience, not even for the orchestra or the actor playing the prince who was ready to enter the scene.

But for someone else entirely.

Their voice curled through the theatre smooth as smoke through water, softer than the earlier performances, intimate.

Like fingers slipping beneath skin.

“Through the silence of the abyss …Through the darkest waves as heavy as velvet, as delicate as petals.

Through a sorrow so deep that nightfall doesn’t dare to dwell…Through thick blood and crystalline tears.”

The crowd fell silent instantly.

Kallamar’s lips parted faintly.

“Let the sound of the ocean ring free.Let the dawn light bring my voice where your heart still lies in dreams…”

Instinctively, thoughtlessly he began mouthing the lyrics beneath his breath the same way he had throughout the entire musical.

“The sea remembers your name,It watched you as you left me to die…”

But as he sang, something aligned. He felt the music resonating in his chest, bending perfectly around his natural register.

And the mermaid’s voice coiled like a soft cuddle against the quiet hum of his own.

The God of Pestilence blinked tilting his crowned head and below him, the octopus smiled.

“You carved my heart wide open, your crown as weapon to make me bleed.Now let my love finally feed…

As the music started swelling the actors should have entered the stage… but Haborym extended one elegant hand towards the royal balcony instead.

Exactly as the Mermaid beckoned the prince towards the sea.

The gesture was shameless.

An intimate invitation for one person only.

The audience gasped in surprise and the surrounding guards stiffened immediately.

“My Lord…?” the General warned under his breath. One of Kallamar’s spouses reached carefully for his arm.

“My Sweet Blight, do not—”

But Kallamar was no longer listening.

Because for the first time during the play he looked awake.

His blue eyes remained locked on Haborym with growing fascination as the octopus continued singing directly to him.

Not at him.

But to him.

Like the song belonged to them and no one else in the theatre, no one else in the world.

“Did you think the dark waves would keep me silent? Did you think I’d fade below, drowning in my tears?”

Kallamar’s voice joined the melody fully then.

Soft at first.

But the moment he rose from his seat and his timbre rang true settling into the music, a collective shiver tore through the theatre.

The harmony was perfect, not merely pleasantly adapted, but simply perfect!

That’s when Haborym’s higher notes wrapped around Kallamar’s richer tone so naturally it no longer sounded like two separate singers but one voice split cleanly in half.

The audience and the cast stared in stunned silence, the prince remained backstage unsure what his role was anymore.

Even the orchestra seemed hypnotised, as they carried the notes.

“Come down where the shore kisses the white foam. Come dip your feet into the warm waters…”

Kallamar slowly moved toward the stairs.

“My Lord!” the General tried again, but Kallamar simply descended the first white marble step of his balcony staircase without taking his eyes off the mermaid.

Then another.

And another.

Still singing while the theatre had stopped breathing entirely in pure awe as the unprecedented scene unfolded.

Haborym watched him descend with widening pupils as their own voice instinctively shifted and adapted to meet his more closely, note after note with frightening precision.

They had spent their entire life listening to recordings of this voice.

Studying and training on it.

Memorising every cadence.

And now they sang alongside it like they had been born for this singular purpose.

“You tasted love like a fleeting dream in a summer night, But this dream is eternal and your love will spill on my tongue

like the words of this last song…”

Kallamar reached the bottom of the staircase, the General steadied the guards and no longer dared interfere.

The audience and staff sat frozen beneath whatever strange spell had overtaken the theatre as the closer he came to the stage the more impossible the harmony became.

Their voices melted together completely.

With no dissonance and no struggle.

No competition.

Only one beautiful, monstrous sound flooding through the opera hall until even the walls themselves seemed to vibrate with it.

Haborym’s hand reached forward and their fingers touched.

And just as naturally as their voices, they intertwined in a soft grip that let the divine radiance flood the stage reflecting every glittering element, devouring every gleam of the victory dress.

They stepped backwards towards the painted sea at the rear of the stage, guiding him forward exactly as the Mermaid lured the prince towards his death.

Kallamar followed willingly, smiling, eyes shimmering in unshed tears as he sang like he hadn’t in… no, he couldn’t remember when was the last time he felt the thrill of his voice ringing so freely in public.

“Let your love pull you under, Let your lies be the weight at your ankles…”

The final note rose.

“Rest forever in the embrace of the ocean…Rest forever beneath the waves…Let your love spill crimson in the water…

Higher.

“Let your soul catch the current”

Higher.

“Let your heart belong

to no one

but

me.”

Then both voices struck the ending together with such violent perfection that the theatre fell into stunned silence before the audience even remembered how to breathe.

No applause came at first: something sacred, or perhaps deeply blasphemous, had just unfolded before them.

Meanwhile beneath the blinding stage lights, God and Mermaid still stood hand in hand as neither had let go.

Kallamar’s blue eyes remained locked onto Haborym’s four ember-coloured ones, and for the first time that evening the octopus saw something living within those divine pupils.

It was pure, genuine exhilaration and joy. Nothing but the raw delight of performance shared between two artists who understood one another perfectly through music alone.

Then suddenly, the theatre exploded and deafening applause crashed through the opera hall like a tidal wave.

The audience rose to their feet almost as one, nobles and commoners alike roared with amazement for the most astonishing performance ever witnessed by the musical stages of Anchordeep in the last century, no probably millennia. Even backstage, staff and dancers cheered breathlessly whilst the orchestra looked half delirious and stunned from what they had just experienced.

It no longer felt like a performance.

It felt like witnessing history.

Haborym stood perfectly still beneath the storm of praise, their hand still resting in Kallamar’s elegant grasp.

Then the god spoke softly, gentle words that belonged only to him and his Mermaid.

“Marry me.”

Everyone knows that moment.

The one where everything seems to move in slow motion, where the world seems to blur, where sound muffles into something incomprehensive and unreal.

That was the moment Haborym had been raised for, shaped for and starved for.

Slowly, a smile of recognition and pride spread across their face, wide enough to reach all four eyes.

The triumph of the Mermaid.

“Of course, my Lord.”

The applause only grew louder and somewhere nearby, the General covered his face with a gloved hand in exhausted disbelief while Kallamar’s spouses exchanged helplessly amused looks with one another.

Of course this had happened. Of course.

The final bows proceeded in a blur of cheers and celebration. The cast flooded onto the stage one by one, bowing reverently before the God of Pestilence, who praised each performer individually, shaking their hands with visible enthusiasm.

Only then did the director finally seem to recover from the shock, just in time to start loudly taking credit for the entire production he had barely managed to keep under control.

But Haborym scarcely heard any of it, as their attention was on Kallamar’s hand, remaining wrapped around theirs.

Warm and real. A dream come true.

And when the theatre finally began emptying, the octopus followed beside their beloved god, their future husband, towards the royal entourage waiting expectantly near the private balcony exits.

Their new life awaited them.

Luxury, status, court.

Everything they had been promised since birth. Everything they deserved.

“WAIT!”

The shrill cry tore through the corridor behind them.

“Haby! Wait, darling!”

Two frantic figures shoved desperately through the dispersing crowds, breathless and dishevelled from running. An octopus and a starfish still dressed in plain workers’ clothing stumbled towards the guarded balcony entrance only for the General’s guards to block the way.

“Y-Your Grace!” Malina gasped, bowing so quickly she nearly lost balance. “W-We are their mothers!”

“Yes!” Octavia added breathlessly, beaming with desperate pride. “Haby is our child!”

Kallamar glanced lazily between the two women, he could see the familial resemblance in the traits but his attention shifted towards his new True Love for confirmation.

The octopus blinked.

Confusion spread delicately across their features then slowly, they shook their head.

“I have no idea who these people are.”

No hesitation.

No guilt.

No softness whatsoever.

The words struck like a blade as both ladies froze instantly. Their faces emptied of all colour while neither seemed capable of breathing.

Octavia stared at Haborym with widening eyes whilst Malina’s trembling smile collapsed completely.

“Haby…” she whispered weakly.

But Haborym had already turned back towards Kallamar watching him with an adoration their mothers had never seen in their eyes.

The god studied them for a brief moment, a single instant was all it took for his judgement to pass. Then, to the mothers’ horror, he nodded his command.

The guards forced the two women backwards as the royal entourage finally began moving once more, separating them further and further from the child they had spent their entire lives creating.

Their project.

Both struggled,fought, cried and screamed at the top of their lungs, but the reason they had sacrificed everything for disappeared into the glowing corridors at the side of a god.

And never looked back.

The End

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Randomness