JGMH | Chapter 8

“Whether a curse or a blessing, a wish is only what you make of it.”

The mermaid’s powers were limited, evidenced by her inability to return to the realm of merfolk on her own. Her abilities were meant for the benefit of others—a sweet yet cruel command instilled by Diantha out of her love and concern for her children and her kind.

How fitting and merciless, to maintain such perfect control. If only Eisentein could be kept in such submission.

“Still, I must admit, I’m eagerly awaiting the curse you might bring me. So, tell me, Levis, what kind of evil can come from a wish made of good?”

The queen burst into laughter at the mermaid who tried her best to look threatening.

“Since this is a secret known only to me, you should be grateful, shouldn’t you?”

“…”

“Don’t trust me? What if I said I have no intention of sharing you with anyone else? Would you believe me then?”

Levis stayed silent. The lake spirit, sensing the queen’s presence, had fled in fear, leaving her to face the queen alone.

The queen’s knowledge of Levis was startlingly deep, enough to leave her unnerved.

“If you grant my wish, I might send you back to where you came from, Levis.”

“…..”

“There’s no helping it if you don’t believe it..”

Levis couldn’t possibly trust the queen’s honeyed promise. Liars like her always took what they wanted and discarded their promises without a second thought. Narrowing her eyes, the queen played her final hand.

“I’ll tell you a secret about yourself—something you don’t know. Would that make you more inclined to talk?”

“How can you be so sure I don’t know it already?”

“If you did, you would’ve at least tried to escape.”

Her words struck a nerve in Levis, but with the sting of truth came an unexpected glimmer of hope.

Was there truly a way to escape? Her yearning to return to the safety of her homeland surged anew.

Mother, I’ve repented endlessly for my foolish, impulsive actions. Please, send me back.

She had prayed countless times within the confines of her glass tank.

“How pitiable that your mother hid from you what you needed most.”

“…What do you want from me?”

Levis rolled her eyes. There was no point in stalling any longer. When the queen removed her amulet, her fingers turned blue almost instantly.

Levis noticed the ominous energy emanating from the queen’s exposed forearm, like smoke curling upward, filling the air with a nauseating unease. So this is why the spirit fled.

“You want me to heal that?”

“I’m gravely injured. And now, my amulet has lost its effectiveness. In two, maybe three years, this gem will shatter entirely.”

Could there be a king who wouldn’t spare any resources to heal his queen? Hardly.

Levis delved into the queen’s intentions. There had to be something she was hiding from her king—a curse so vile that even divine beings trembled at its touch.

The mermaid guessed that the queen had been wounded while plotting some clandestine scheme. Such malevolence couldn’t have seeped into her body otherwise.

The aura concealed by the amulet was immense and dark, chilling Levis to the core.

“And then?”

“Lift the curse from my body entirely.”

A curse was not like a wound; it could not be healed completely unless its caster was eliminated.

At best, the effects could be mitigated. But to fully heal her would alert the curse’s originator to Levis’s actions.

Thinking of who might have cast such a curse, Levis imagined entities born of shadow—creatures crawling in darkness, far removed from gods like Diantha and Nicéphore. It was far too dangerous to trust the queen and aid her blindly.

“…Show me proof, and I’ll consider helping you.”

Besides, if the queen were fully healed, she would have no more use for Levis.

Levis resolved to treat only the visible injuries hidden by the amulet. The scars would inevitably reappear as long as the curse lingered within the queen.

To survive under the queen’s rule, Levis had to remain indispensable.

Seeing the doubt in Levis’s eyes, the queen slipped the amulet back on and smiled.

“Very well, it’s my turn now.”

When Leviss nodded, the queen spoke, her tone light, as though sharing a pleasant secret.

“If a mermaid drinks the blood of a human while in her true form, she’ll gain legs. With legs, you can escape.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

She had tasted the blood of men she’d killed in ways she’d rather not recall, yet her body had never changed. The queen was trying to deceive her.

At Rebus’s mistrustful glare, the queen chuckled—a sound oddly mismatched with her sinister demeanor.

“Oh my, have you already tried? It must be living blood, not that of the dead.”

The queen seemed oblivious to how deeply her words unsettled Levis, just as Levis remained unaware of the full depth of the queen’s curse.

With an air of condescension, the queen flicked her finger against Levis’s nose as if playing with a pet.

“But you can only keep those legs as long as the one whose blood you drank remains alive.”

“Do I eventually return to being a mermaid?”

“If it sounds too good to be true, you can test it right now. I can’t vouch for how long the effect will last, though.”

“Do it.”

The queen drew a sharp hairpin and pricked her finger. When a drop of blood pooled, she held it to the corner of Levis’s lips.

Levis drank without resistance, waiting for some sign of change. At first, nothing happened.

The queen stood still, observing her silently. Levis was about to complain about the insufficient amount when she felt a sudden rush of warmth coursing through her lower body. Moments later, she realized she was no longer swimming but flailing her legs.

Dragging herself onto the shore, she struggled to adjust to her new limbs, bending and straightening her knees before attempting to stand.

As she gingerly balanced on her feet, the queen watched with faint amusement.

“It looks like you can learn to walk faster than a toddler.”

Once upright, Levis realized how tall the queen was. The disparity in their heights annoyed her as the queen’s gaze rested on her.

Mimicking the queen’s graceful steps, Levis tried to walk, only to lose her balance and wobble awkwardly.

The queen’s laughter rang out as Levis staggered forward, arms outstretched for balance.

“Hahaha! You look like a newborn fawn taking its first steps!”

“…..”

“Well, that should be proof enough.”

Levis couldn’t sustain her two-legged form for long. Exhausted, she collapsed onto the damp moss like a crumbling sand castle.

Heat surged through her body, and her legs began to tingle. The transformation couldn’t last with such a small amount of blood.

She had barely made it a few steps from the lake before her legs reverted, shimmering scales once again covering her tail.

“Fine.”

“Now then, are you ready to make a proper deal?”

Levis nodded. She would remove only the visible scars. And before the queen could use her up completely, she would find someone—anyone—willing to give her their blood and flee.

“As promised, I’ll help you.”

The queen smiled sweetly at Levis’s words.

 

***

 

“Cursed, is it?”

Rosander bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, the image of the queen’s amulet vivid in his mind. So this was why she had been so desperate to conceal that ghastly, corpse-like blue flesh of hers.

Before departing the royal capital, an unease had gripped him, compelling him to linger near the lake of the mermaid. She had always been unsettling, but today she seemed particularly off.

And the vague suspicion gnawing at the edge of his mind—that this mermaid had somehow become useful to the queen—was proven correct.

The queen’s critical error lay in her failure to sense his presence and the subsequent exposure of her weakness.

In the decade he had spent confined to the royal palace, how often had he dreamed of destroying her? That woman, tainted by a malevolent entity, wielded a strange power. If she sought to erase the price of that power through the mermaid, then surely, the entity she had bargained with would be forced into the light.

Arrogant beyond measure, she believed herself capable of controlling everything. Yet the queen couldn’t possibly gauge how potent the mermaid’s assistance will be for her.

Was sparing the creature truly the right choice? Unable to answer that question, Rosander stepped down from the carriage.

Near the borders of the Cliffor Grand Duchy lay the Valley of Kings. Its village, subdued as a hibernating bear’s den, exuded a profound stillness. With the year drawing to a close, the locals were unwelcoming to outsiders, shuttering their stores long before nightfall.

The humid, chilling air carried faint whispers, as though even the breeze could make sound.

The vast hill—or rather, the cemetery—rose to obscure the fading sunset. Here and there, names of the beloved departed were etched into the stones.

Rosander’s stride broke before two particular graves. One bore the name Ferrendo Brynne, the other Olivia Wayne. Only the surname “Wayne,” inscribed later, seemed foreign amidst the engravings.

Kneeling, Rosander gently placed a bouquet of wildflowers atop the modest headstone.

He still didn’t know the names of the flowers. All he remembered was that Olivia had loved them when she was alive. From the fragments of his dusty memories, he had pieced together this makeshift offering.

“It’s crude, but take it.” 

He murmured, almost in lament. He had donned his finest attire and combed his unruly hair, yet his day had been consumed by the search for those blooms.

“You used to say each flower had a name, a meaning. I hope I didn’t bring the wrong ones.” 

His hand swept tenderly over the grave where the flowers rested.

“And I never did ask if you were fine lying next to Ferrendo. I couldn’t leave you alone, you know.”

“…..”

 “But would he let me rest beside you when the time comes?”

“…..”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll lie beneath you.”

Rosander spoke as though the dead could hear him. Ferrendo Brynne had passed a year before Olivia.

In that time, Olivia Brynne had remained her brother’s sister, becoming Rosander’s wife in name only according to her brother’s will—was unable to claim even a proper surname.

If only he had known those fleeting moments wouldn’t last long—or perhaps, hadn’t been so brief. Rosander chuckled bitterly, lost in the labyrinth of “what-ifs.”

“If I’ve done something wrong, get mad now. I’ll take it all. I’ve got plenty of time now, see. I can listen to whatever you have to say.”

“…..”

“Your daughter must be ten by now. I take better care of other people’s kids, you know. Bring her along next time.”

When Ferrendo entrusted his sister to him, he could never have imagined her betrayal. Rosander smirked, the irony of it bitter on his tongue.

The orange-streaked sky grew cold, but Rosander lingered by the grave, unmoving.

After sitting in silence for some time, he noticed signs of disturbance around the graves. His hands brushed against the faint border where grass had been torn away.

Carefully digging into the dry, crumbling soil, he uncovered the evidence of an animal’s excavation. The marks were unmistakable.

He dug further, his hand reaching into the grave’s hollow. For a moment, he thought there was nothing. Then, his fingers brushed against an unfamiliar fabric.

Rising to his feet, he pulled the object out. Dusting it off revealed an embroidered handkerchief, once violet but now dulled by time.

This wasn’t an ordinary handkerchief—it was the kind tied to sword hilts, meant to bring fortune. The olivewood insignia was unmistakably a style originating from Belfret. Belfret—the queen’s wretched homeland. Rosander clenched the fabric in his hand, his disdain for that cursed place evident.

As darkness descended over the hill, Rosander prepared to leave. “Damn animals,” he muttered under his breath. Now, he had even more reason to return to the capital ahead of schedule.