Mermaid Tails Quotes

The main courtyard was filled with warriors - mermen with fish tails from the waist down and human bodies from the waist up, except their skin was blue, which I'd never known before.Some were tending the wounded. Some were sharpening spears and swords. One passed us, swimming in a hurry. His eyes were bright green, like that stuff they put in glo-sticks, and his teeth were shark teeth. They don't show you stuff like that in "The Little Mermaid.

I used to love the ocean. Everything about her. Her coral reefs, her white caps, her roaring waves, the rocks they lap, her pirate legends and mermaid tails, Treasures lost and treasures held... And ALL Of her fish In the sea. Yes, I used to love the ocean, Everything about her. The way she would sing me to sleep as I lay in my bed then wake me with a force That I soon came to dread. Her fables, her lies, her misleading eyes, I'd drain her dry If I cared enough to. I used to love the ocean, Everything about her. Her coral reefs, her white caps, her roaring waves, the rocks they lap, her pirate legends and mermaid tails, treasures lost and treasures held. And ALL Of her fish In the sea. Well, if you've ever tried navigating your sailboat through her stormy seas, you would realize that her white caps are your enemies. If you've ever tried swimming ashore when your leg gets a cramp and you just had a huge meal of In-n-Out burgers that's weighing you down, and her roaring waves are knocking the wind out of you, filling your lungs with water as you flail your arms, trying to get someone's attention, but your friends just wave back at you? And if you've ever grown up with dreams in your head about life, and how one of these days you would pirate your own ship and have your own crew and that all of the mermaids would love only you? Well, you would realize... Like I eventually realized... That all the good things about her? All the beautiful? It's not real. It's fake. So you keep your ocean, I'll take the Lake.

Woman’s role in creation should be parallel to her role in life. I don’t mean the good earth. I mean the bad earth too, the demon, the instincts, the storms of nature. Tragedies, conflicts, mysteries are personal. Man fabricated a detachment which became fatal. Woman must not fabricate. She must descend into the real womb and expose its secrets and its labyrinths. She must describe it as the city of Fez, with its Arabian Nights gentleness, tranquility and mystery. She must describe the voracious moods, the desires, the worlds contained in each cell of it. For the womb has dreams. It is not as simple as the good earth. I believe at times that man created art out of fear of exploring woman. I believe woman stuttered about herself out of fear of what she had to say. She covered herself with taboos and veils. Man invented a woman to suit his needs. He disposed of her by identifying her with nature and then paraded his contemptuous domination of nature. But woman is not nature only. She is the mermaid with her fish-tail dipped in the unconscious.

The tail of Emily Windsnap"everyone has a secret . mines alittle different. i figured out i am a mermaid.

I shall always remember how the peacocks’ tails shimmered when the moon rose amongst the tall trees, and on the shady bank the emerging mermaids gleamed fresh and silvery amongst the rocks…

Then your tail will divide and shrink until it becomes what the people on earth call a pair of shapely legs. But it will hurt; it will feel as if a sharp sword slashed through you. Everyone who sees you will say that you are the most graceful human being they have ever laid eyes on, for you will keep your gliding movement and no dancer will be able to tread as lightly as you. But every step you take will feel as if you were treading upon knife blades so sharp that blood must flow. I am willing to help you, but are you willing to suffer all this?" "Yes," the little mermaid said in a trembling voice, as she thought of the Prince and of gaining a human soul.

There walked warlocks in all their bat-winged, cat-eyed glory, and here, as they swung out over the river, she saw the darting flash of multicolored tails under the silvery skin of the water, the shimmer of long, pearl-strewn hair, and heard the high, rippling laughter of the mermaids.

As I walked out one harvest night About the stroke of One, The Moon attained to her full height Stood beaming like the Sun. She exorcised the ghostly wheat To mute assent in Love's defeat Whose tryst had now begun. The fields lay sick beneath my tread, A tedious owlet cried; The nightingale above my head With this or that replied, Like man and wife who nightly keep Inconsequent debate in sleep As they dream side by side. Your phantom wore the moon's cold mask, My phantom wore the same, Forgetful of the feverish task In hope of which they came, Each image held the other's eyes And watched a grey distraction rise To cloud the eager flame. To cloud the eager flame of love, To fog the shining gate: They held the tyrannous queen above Sole mover of their fate, They glared as marble statues glare Across the tessellated stair Or down the Halls of State. And now cold earth was Arctic sea, Each breath came dagger keen, Two bergs of glinting ice were we, The broad moon sailed between; There swam the mermaids, tailed and finned, And Love went by upon the wind As though it had not been. - Full Moon

Do not mistake the revelation of my body for the revelation of my heart. My heart keeps its own secrets, and they don't belong to you or anyone else just because you've seen me with a fish tail.

I used to love the ocean. Everything about her. Her coral reefs, her white caps, her roaring waves, the rocks they lap, her pirate legends and mermaid tails, Treasures lost and treasures held…

Never ask a mermaid if you can borrow her tail.

Two small figures were beating against the rock; the girl had fainted and lay on the the boy's arm. With a last effort Peter pulled her up the rock and then lay down beside her. Even as he also fainted he saw that the water was raising, He knew that they would soon be drowned, but he could do no more. As they lay side by side a mermaid caught Wendy by the feet, and began pulling her softly into the water. Peter feeling her slip from him, woke with a start, and was just in time to draw her back. But he had to tell her the truth. "We are on the rock, Wendy," he said, "but it is growing smaller. Soon the water will be over it." She did not understand even now. "We must go," she said, almost brightly. "Yes," he answered faintly. "Shall we swim or fly, Peter?" He had to tell her. "Do you think you could swim or fly as far as the island, Wendy, without my help?" She had to admit she was too tired. He moaned. "What is it?" she asked, anxious about him at once. "I can't help you, Wendy. Hook wounded me. I can neither fly nor swim." "Do you mean we shall both be downed?" "Look how the water is raising." They put their hands over their eyes to shut out the sight. They thought they would soon be no more. As they sat thus something brushed against Peter as light as a kiss, and stayed there, as if to say timidly, "Can I be of any us?" It was the tail of a kite, which Michael had made some days before. It had torn itself out of his hand and floated away. "Michael's kite," Peter said without interest, but the next moment he had seized the tail, and was pulling the kite towards him. "It lifted Michael off the ground," he cried; "why should it not carry you?" "Both of us!" "It can't left two; Michael and Curly tried." "Let us draw lots," Wendy said bravely. "And you a lady; never." Already he had tied the tail round her. She clung to him; she refused to go without him; but with a "Good-bye, Wendy." he pushed her from the rock; and in a few minutes she was borne out of his sight. Peter was alone on the lagoon. The rock was very small now; soon it would be submerged. Pale rays of light tiptoed across the waters; and by and by there was to be heard a sound at once the most musical and the most melancholy in the world: the mermaids calling to the moon.

You've become a queen, a woman with a complicated personality. You have hidden depths and a wisdom and intelligence that all went unnoticed before by an idiot prince whose heart couldn't listen to anything his ears couldn't hear." Ariel felt a little giddy. "I control storms and the heart of a prince. I like that." If she were in the sea she would have been swooning, thrashing her tail and spinning in circles until she was dizzy.

She's not dead. You didn't kill her, nor did the hunger birds, although they did their best to get to you through her. She's been given her ocean. One day, in its own time, the ocean will give her back. I thought of corpses and of skeletons with pearls for eyes. I thought of mermaids with tails that flicked when they moved, like my goldfishes' tails had flicked before my goldfish had stopped moving, to lie, belly up, like Lettie, on the top of the water. I said, 'Will she be the same?

When the waiter brought the cheese-board, there was a large carrot carved in the shape of a mermaid sitting between the Dolcelatte and the Pecorino. Teo could have sworn that the carrot-mermaid flexed her tail and plunged her little hand inside a smelly Gorgonzola. 'Tyromancy, ye know,' remarked the mermaid. 'The Ancient Art of Divination by Cheese.' Then she pulled her tiny hand out and inspected the green cheese-mold on her tiny fingers. 'Lackaday!' she moaned. 'Stinking! It goes poorly for Venice and Teodora, it do!

your hips will try to burst through your skin. your thighs will try to grow together like a mermaid's tail. a soft garden will try to sprout on your legs. (& between your legs, on your upper lip, on your armpits, etc.) no, you are not just here to be sexy for him. the world begins & ends when you say so. -what they don't want you to know

Still, you can’t deny that, like goldfish and gummies, The Little Mermaid is fucking magical. I still feel sparkles in my stomach when I watch it. Despite Ariel wearing an ocean bra for most of that movie, and despite the fact that a man ultimately saves her from an evil plus-sized sea witch, and despite Ariel ditching her entire family for this man just because he’s a handsome prince, I gave in and showed The Little Mermaid to Mari on repeat. Those songs are also the shit. I’m a sucker for a drunk seagull best friend and since this is a safe space free of judgment: Ariel’s dad is kinda hot? I still find my feelings about King Triton confusing. He looks like Santa with abs and a tail.

I watched the colored lights and sparkles coming off of Sebastian in the dark water, as the ocean began the process of rebuilding his tail. I longed to join him in the water, to wrap my arms around him and let him carry me under the sea; but I wasn't ready. For him, the ocean was a home; for me it was death. Without being able to transform, the ocean depths would suffocate me, the pressure collapse my bones and flesh.

Rising only to the edge of her waist — for she knew full well how the sight of a tail affects mortal men — the mermaid showed the prince her shell-like breasts, her pearly skin, the phosphorescence of her hair. She held a webbed hand over her mouth, her fingers as slim as the ribs of a fan. Then she pulled her hand away, displaying her smile. She was well trained in the arts of seduction, as was he. Royalty abounds in it.

Maybe the choice to love is magic everyone has.

The sky was powdered with diamond dust and the river hid its secrets under a slick black sheets, broken here and there with a silvery flash that could have been a fish's tail-or a mermaid's.

A few years ago, long after it had been closed, Eli said he saw a girl swimming in it, coming out of the water in a bikini, laughing at her frigthtened boyfriend, seaweed snaking around her. He said she looked like a mermaid. Deenie always pictured it like in one of those books of mythology she used to love, a girl rising from the foam gritted with pearls, mussels, the glitter of the sea. "It looks beautiful", her mother had said once when they were driving by at night, its waters opaline. “It is beautiful. But it makes people sick.” To Deenie, it was one of many interesting things that adults said would kill you: Easter lilles, jellyfish, copperhead snakes with their diamond heads, tails bright as sulfur. Don't touch, don't taste, don't get too close. And then, last week.

On the fifth night of this solitude, she falls asleep with a candle burning and dreams herself a mermaid with a thick and golden tail, a crown of shimmering conch shells, then awakens with a start. Whether the ship hit something or something hit the ship, another change has come. The ship is dying; she can feel it slipping away. She waits beneath the blanket for icy water to greet her. But instead of the sea, it's a bear that opens the door. A great white bear up on its hind legs steps across the threshold. 'Good morning,' he says, and reaches out a paw.

I do have a bad habit,” he says. “of falling in love. With regularity and to spectacular effect. You see, it never goes well.” I wonder if this conversation makes him think of our kiss, but then, I was the one who kissed him. He’d only kissed back. “As charming as you are, how can that be?” I say. He laughs again. “That’s what my sister Taryn always says. She tells me that I remind her of her late husband. Which makes some sense, since I would be his half brother. But it’s also alarming, because she’s the one who murdered him.” Much as when he spoke about Madoc, it’s strange how fond Oak can sound when he tells me a horrifying thing a member of his family has done. “Whom have you fallen in love with?” I ask. “Well, there was you,” the prince says. “When we were children.” “Me?” I ask incredulously. “You didn’t know?” He appears to be merry in the face of my astonishment. “Oh yes. Though you were a year my senior, and it was hopeless, I absolutely mooned over you. When you were gone from Court, I refused any food but tea and toast for a month.” I cannot help snorting over the sheer absurdity of his statement. He puts a hand to my heart. “Ah, and now you laugh. It is my curse to adore cruel women. He cannot expect me to believe he had real feelings. “Stop with your games.” “Very well,” he says. “Shall we go to the next? Her name was Lara, a mortal at the school I attended when I lived with my eldest sister and her girlfriend. Sometimes Lara and I would climb into the crook of one of the maple trees and share sandwiches. But she had a villainous friend, who implicated me in a piece of gossip—which resulted in Lara stabbing me with a lead pencil and breaking off our relationship.” “You do like cruel women,” I say. “Then there was Violet, a pixie. I wrote terrible poetry about how I adored her. Unfortunately, she adored duels and would get into trouble so that I would have to fight for her honor. And even more unfortunately, neither my sister nor my father bothered to teach me how to fight for show. I thought of the dead-eyed expression on his face before his bout with the ogre and Tiernan’s angry words. “That resulted in my accidentally killing a person she liked better than me.” “Oh,” I say. “That is three levels of unfortunate.” “Then there was Sibi, who wanted to run away from Court with me, but as soon as we went, hated it and wept until I took her home. And Loana, a mermaid, who found my lack of a tail unbearable but tried to drown me anyway, because she found it equally unbearable that I would ever love another.” The way he tells these stories makes me recall how he’s told me many painful things before. Some people laugh in the face of death. He laughed in the face of despair. “How old were you?” “Fifteen, with the mermaid,” he said. “And nearly three years later, I must surely be wiser.” “Surely,” I say, wondering if he was. Wondering if I wanted him to be.

A paradisiacal lagoon lay below them. The water was an unbelievable, unreal turquoise, its surface so still that every feature of the bottom could be admired in magnified detail: colorful pebbles, bright red kelp, fish as pretty and colorful as the jungle birds. A waterfall on the far side fell softly from a height of at least twenty feet. A triple rainbow graced its frothy bottom. Large boulders stuck out of the water at seemingly random intervals, black and sun-warmed and extremely inviting, like they had been placed there on purpose by some ancient giant. And on these were the mermaids. Wendy gasped at their beauty. Their tails were all colors of the rainbow, somehow managing not to look tawdry or clownish. Deep royal blue, glittery emerald green, coral red, anemone purple. Slick and wet and as beautifully real as the salmon Wendy's father had once caught on holiday in Scotland. Shining and voluptuously alive. The mermaids were rather scandalously naked except for a few who wore carefully placed shells and starfish, although their hair did afford some measure of decorum as it trailed down their torsos. Their locks were long and thick and sinuous and mostly the same shades as their tails. Some had very tightly coiled curls, some had braids. Some had decorated their tresses with limpets and bright hibiscus flowers. Their "human" skins were familiar tones: dark brown to pale white, pink and beige and golden and everything in between. Their eyes were also familiar eye colors but strangely clear and flat. Either depthless or extremely shallow depending on how one stared. They sang, they brushed their hair, they played in the water. In short, they did everything mythical and magical mermaids were supposed to do, laughing and splashing as they did. "Oh!" Wendy whispered. "They're-" And then she stopped. Tinker Bell was giving her a funny look. An unhappy funny look. The mermaids were beautiful. Indescribably, perfectly beautiful. They glowed and were radiant and seemed to suck up every ray of sun and sparkle of water; Wendy found she had no interest looking anywhere else.

Mermaid Monologue With tattered tail of a half forgotten root, aiming at the stars she was waving. From a distance, a Voyager caught a glimpse of her dampen fin. Neither of them could remember their previous sign. He thought of guiding her the worldly way. She used to listen minutely sitting at the bay. He never realized the way how he turned such a saint. She never revealed the pangs of her undiluted paint. Never ever any spaceship returned to bring back the alien. Neither of them came to know a violin was in play everytime in a different plain.

Attina saw her and came over. Despite their extreme difference in age, she was the one Ariel felt closest to. Even if her big sister didn't fully understand the urge to seek out a human prince, or to explore the Dry World, or to collect odd bits of human relics, she always treated her little sister as gently as she could- despite how gruff she sounded. "What's happening?" she asked, swishing her orange tail back and forth. Her hair wasn't done yet; it was obvious she was devoting her time to helping the younger sisters with theirs. The only slightly frumpy brown bun was locked in place by sea urchin spikes.

Mermaid queens didn't often have a reason to move quickly. There were no wars to direct, no assassination attempts to evade, no crowds of clamoring admirers to avoid among the merfolk. In fact, slowness and calm were expected of royalty. So Ariel found herself thoroughly enjoying the exercise as she beat her tail against the water- even as it winded her a little. She missed dashing through shipwrecks with Flounder, fleeing sharks, trying to scoot back home before curfew. She loved the feel of her powerful muscles, the way the current cut around her when she twisted her shoulders to go faster. She hadn't been this far up in years and gulped as the pressure of the deep faded. She clicked her ears, readying them for the change of environment. Colors faded and transformed around her from the dark, heady slate of the ocean bottom to the soothing azure of the middle depths and finally lightening to the electric, magical periwinkle that heralded the burst into daylight. She hadn't planned to break through the surface triumphantly. She wouldn't give it that power. Her plan was to take it slow and rise like a whale. Casually, unperturbed, like Ooh, here I am. But somehow her tail kicked in twice as hard the last few feet, and she exploded into the warm sunlit air like she had been drowning. She gulped again and tasted the breeze- dry in her mouth; salt and pine and far-distant fires and a thousand alien scents.

Things were about to get ugly when a waterspout erupted off the port bow. Atop the column of spume sat an old man with fins instead of arms, and a fish tail instead of legs. “It’s Poseidon!” yelled Zetes. “It’s Oceanus!” said Atalanta. “It’s that guy from The Little Mermaid!” said Orpheus. The merman sighed and flapped his arm-fins. “Actually, I’m Glaucus. But don’t worry. No one ever gets that right.” The Argonauts muttered among themselves, trying to figure out who Glaucus was. “Oh my gods!” the ship’s prow said. “You people are embarrassing me! Glaucus was a fisherman who ate some magic herbs and became immortal. Now he’s like the Delphic Oracle of the sea!” “Ohhhh.” The crew all nodded like they knew what the prow was talking about.

Teddy Roosevelt?" I suggested. Sadie and I had been trying to figure out the second mathlete's costume for a few minutes. He was wearing a 1930's-style suit,had his hair slicked down carefully, and was sporting a fake mustache. "No glasses. And I can't even begin to imagine the connection between Davy Jone's Locker and Teddy Roosevelt." Sadie pulled a long gold hair from her pumpkin-orange punch and sighed. Maybe her mother hadn't topped her Sleepy Hollow triumph, but it wasn't from lack of determination. What Mrs. Winslow hadn't achieved in creativity (she'd gone the mermaid route), she'd made up in the details. The tailed skirt was intricately beaded and embroidered in a dozen shades of blue and green. It was pretty amazing.The problem was the bodice: not a bikini, but not much better as far as Sadie was concerned. It was green, plunging, and edged with itchy-looking scallops. She was managing to stay covered by the wig, but that was an issue in itself. It was massive,made up of hundreds of trailing corkscrew curls in a metallic blonde. To top it all off, the costume included a glittering, three point crown, and a six-foot trident, complete with jewels and trailing silk seaweed. "Sadie," I'd asked quietly when she'd appeared at my house, shivering and tangled in her wig, "why don't you..." Just tell her where she can shove her trident? But that would just have been mean. Sadie gives in and wears the costumes because it's infinitely easier than fighting. "...come next door and we'll see if Sienna has a shawl you can borrow?

Tina, who worked at the Hampshire Gazette and drank like a journalist in a movie, was loudly musing about getting her shadow altered to have a cat tail. “Guys love a tail,” Tina proclaimed, to protests by nearly everyone. Aimee thought Tina shouldn’t consider fetishes along a gender binary. Ian wanted it to be known that he thought it was disgusting, and that men did not want to molest animals. The artist agreed it was kind of hot, but his comic was about saucy mice. Charlie told Tina that maybe she had misunderstood what “getting some tail” actually meant. “Mermaids, right?” Vince asked, in such a clueless just-joined-the-conversation tone that it was hard to know if he was joking, or if he’d misheard the earlier part. It didn’t matter. Everyone laughed. It was funny either way. As Charlie poured more bourbon—with ice this time—she decided she was glad she’d come. She was just buzzed enough to feel an expansive warmth for the people in the room. See, she was fine being a normal person and doing normal-person things.

The translucent, golden punch tastes velvety, voluptuous and not off-puttingly milky. Under its influence, I stage a party for my heroines in my imagination, and in my flat. It's less like the glowering encounter I imagined between Cathy Earnshaw and Flora Poste, and more like the riotous bash in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Not everyone is going to like milk punch. So there are also dirty martinis, and bagels and baklava, and my mother's masafan, Iraqi marzipan. The Little Mermaid is in the bath, with her tail still on, singing because she never did give up her soaring voice. Anne Shirley and Jo March are having a furious argument about plot versus character, gesticulating with ink-stained hands. Scarlett is in the living room, her skirts taking up half the space, trying to show Lizzy how to bat her eyelashes. Lizzy is laughing her head off ut Scarlett has acquired a sense of humour, and doesn't mind a bit. Melanie is talking book with Esther Greenwood, who has brought her baby and also the proofs of her first poetry collection. Franny and Zooey have rolled back the rug and are doing a soft shoe shuffle in rhinestone hats. Lucy Honeychurch is hammering out some Beethoven (in this scenario I have a piano. A ground piano. Well, why not?) Marjorie Morningstar is gossiping about directors with Pauline and Posy Fossil. They've come straight from the shows they're in, till in stage make-up and full of stories. Petrova, in a leather aviator jacket, goggles pushed back, a chic scarf knotted around her neck, is telling the thrilling story of her latest flight and how she fixed an engine fault in mid-air. Mira, in her paint-stained jeans and poncho, is listening, fascinated, asking a thousand questions. Mildred has been persuaded to drink a tiny glass of sherry, then another tiny glass, then another and now she and Lolly are doing a wild, strange dance in the hallway, stamping their feet, their hair flying wild and electric. Lolly's cakes, in the shape of patriarchs she hates, are going down a treat. The Dolls from the Valley are telling Flora some truly scandalous and unrepeatable stories, and she is firmly advising them to get rid of their men and find worthier paramours. Celie is modelling trousers of her own design and taking orders from the Lace women; Judy is giving her a ten-point plan on how to expand her business to an international market. She is quite drunk but nevertheless the plan seems quite coherent, even if it is punctuated by her bellowing 'More leopard print, more leopard print!' Cathy looks tumultuous and on the edge of violent weeping and just as I think she's going to storm out or trash my flat, Jane arrives, late, with an unexpected guest. Cathy turns in anticipation: is it Heathcliff? Once I would have joined her but now I'm glad it isn't him. It's a better surprise. It's Emily's hawk. Hero or Nero. Jane's found him at last, and has him on her arm, perched on her glove; small for a bird of prey, he is dashing and patrician looking, brown and white, observing the room with dark, flinty eyes. When Cathy sees him, she looks at Jane and smiles. And in the kitchen is a heroine I probably should have had when I was four and sitting on my parents' carpet, wishing it would fly. In the kitchen is Scheherazade.

Thiessen

They did not share a language, but an understanding that loneliness was as damaging as hunger, pain, or fear.

She surfaced, listening for the familiar cadence of his call. Stjerne. Her name, he called it, as if she had need for such a thing. She had a face. She had a scent. Further classification was unnecessary

The vastness of her home waters hid whales, mountains, possibly gods.

The Other called her beautiful, a word without meaning. Strong, she understood. Fast. Deadly. Sated. She knew their opposites, too, but not lately.

He screams like he’s just learned God doesn’t, in fact, think he is a special flower. Or maybe God does think he’s a special flower, and He’s offering him this opportunity to believe in himself for a change. Or maybe none of that makes sense at all, and God doesn’t exist, and we’re all just seashells in the wind or something. I don’t know. Maybe that’s why he’s screaming. More than likely though, it’s just because he’s got himself a shiny, lavender, merlien tail.

At the ends of the extended spinal cord, a few long, thin bones stretched out on either side. Almost like… a fish tail.

All that matters is that you promise never to tell anyone: I had become a mermaid.

They set sail for the emerald green islands in seas Where the rocks and the trade winds are brothers. There are mountains nearby and they reach to the sky, Shearing clouds and warding off others. Warm mists o’er the blue bring a mermaid or two Up fathoms from the cold briny water. Sailors in the nest may spy the beautiful breasts And the tail of the Ocean God’s daughter. It happened one morning as daylight was dawning On a ship that was already a-stirrin’. A soft salty breeze put the crew to their knees With a song that sent their senses a-blurrin’. In the gray morning light, a young sailor caught sight Of a beautiful mermaid a-swimmin’. He then made a wish to be loved by a fish That was better by far than most women. —Brik

Slowly rising from the fire, she went down to the shore, and not wanting to frighten him off again, she squatted on a rock above the water, looking down at him where he sat on the wet sand with his long blue-green tail disappearing into the lapping waves. He shyly offered the bag up to her, which had been woven of seaweed, and she took it with a whispered thanks and opened it, staring in delight and surprise at the sheer amount of oysters that were inside. The siren made a trilling noise and whispered, “I-I hope it is well enough. I do not know what land women eat.

Further, Columbus believes not only in Christian dogma, but also (and he is not alone at the time) in Cyclopes and mermaids, in Amazons and men with tails, and his belief, as strong as Saint Peter’s, therefore permits him to find them.

She flicks her tail, flaunting her mermaidness as if O’Neill is a sailor she wishes to bring to ruin. He

The turquoise tide shimmered in shades of mermaid tails against the alabaster shore. The

The tattoos that adorn his body--how clearly Bridie sees them now--are, in fact, moving. She is put in mind of Monsieur Desvigne's Mimoscope. A device of cunning construction (a wonder among wonders at the Great Exhibition), pictures looped between spools, illuminated by a spark. Bridie, transfixed, saw animals, insects, and machinery--static images--flickering to life, to bounce and flutter, slither and winch. Bridie watches this man with the same fascination as, in one continuous motion, an inked anchor drops the length of his biceps. High on his abdomen an empty-eyed skull, a grinning memento mori, chatters its jaw. A mermaid sits on his shoulder holding a looking glass, combing her blue-black hair. On finding herself observed the mermaid takes fright and swims off under the man's armpit with a deft beat of her tail. On his left pectoral an ornate heart breaks and re-forms over and over again. He is a circus to the eye.

There once was a girl of the Moth Folk, dark-winged, strong, and fearless. Her eyes were like the starlit sky; her footfall soft as shadow. And although she was lovely, love had no place in her heart, for hers was the tribe of the Moth King, who had waged a war on love, for ever and ever. But love, like all forbidden things, was fascinating to her. Every night of the clear full moon, she would go to the Moonlight Market and watch the traders sell their wares: printed books of every kind; pomegranates of the south; wines from the islands; gems from the north; flowers that bloomed only once in their lives. But she only had eyes for the sellers of charms and glamours. Here, there were spells for a broken heart, or to spin dead leaves into gold, or to rekindle a memory, or to summon the western wind. Most of all, there were love spells: tiny bottles of colored glass with stoppers worked in silver filled with potions made from the heart of a rose, or the tail fin of a mermaid. Here were glamours to melt a lover's heart: candles of every color; tokens of remembrance; silk-bound books of poetry. But among all the love-knots and bonbons and pressed flowers and handkerchiefs, the Moth girl never truly saw the nature of her enemy, for it seemed to her that Love was weak, and simpering, and faithless. She told herself she was too strong to fall for its blandishments. Until one day, at the Market, she saw a boy with a glamorie-glass in his hand, standing by a display of books, and stories, and legends, and memories.

you haven’t managed to catch so much as a goldfish since we got here! Even if I were to believe that you have seen a mermaid — which, frankly, I don’t — how in heaven do you propose to catch the thing?” Dad pulls at his net. “I haven’t got the whole plan figured out yet, have I? I’ve only just seen them. A group of them. Swimming in the deep water. One of them had gold stars shining in her tail. There was a merman too, with long black hair and a shiny silver tail. A merman! For God’s sake, Maureen!” He grips her arm again. “I’m telling the truth! You’ll see I am.” Mom pulls away and turns to me. “Come on, Mandy. Help me get some dinner. I’ve had enough of your father and his daydreams for one afternoon.” I follow Mom as we pick our way through undergrowth, scavenging for food like vagrants.

...he saw Quotinir floating in front of him. Deep in the darkest parts of the ocean, he was lit only by a single, yellow light that swung from a fin atop his head. His grey skin sickly under the swinging bulb, he looked as much like a man as he did a monster, scarred and chipped around the edges, with strands of white hair like seaweed flowing around his narrow face. His human waist merged with the rubbery flesh of a shark, the tail larger than any fish or man Elf had ever seen. Though, Quotinir himself was four times larger than any man - the last true giant - trapped under the pressure of the ocean with only his light for company. Slitted, white eyes locked onto Elf as they both floated, suspended in the darkness. ‘Hey, ugly,’ Elf said.

and i am reminded of dead embryos floating in sickly green juices inside glass jars, the ones with bulging eyes like toads, or mermaid’s tail feet, two heads instead of one. nonetheless, i crawl into my own skin, wrestling with and tackling the zipper, and then into bed. these heavy sheets i make a shallow pit inside of— clammy skin to cotton as i bask in this body’s warmth, doing my best as to not dream of the chair in the guest room.

reddie still looked angry. But not at her. “Go on.” Tilted his chin at water. “Hunt.” Hunt. Yes. She knew that. Understood that. Not like so much on land. She sank underwater. Heard Freddie’s voice again. Loud. Commanding. Like alpha. “Showtime!” Perdita grinned. Felt excited. And felt normal for the first time in too long. Let herself sink. The tip of her tail brushed the sand. She halted. Turned her face above. Moments passed. She could pretend she was home again. Silence. Indigo waters. Diamond lights dancing above her. Felt the same rush that always came with hunts. Different this time. There would be prey. But no companions. Unnatural. Her heart lurched. Almost physical pain. Home. Her pack. Heart ached again. She wondered if alphas had sent a search party. Or if they had moved on. Putting their survival first. Perdita could not blame them if they had. Every day was a fight. Fight to stay alive. Fight for food. For territory. To breathe the cleanest water they could find. To flee from monsters that bled poison.

setting up the picnic. Ruth, the thirteen-year-old, and Sammy, the five-year-old, were

lair. When they got

Like many children, Shiloh Pepin loved swimming, playing at the playground, and dancing. But unlike most children, Shiloh resembled a mermaid. She suffered from a very rare medical condition called sirenomelia, also known as Mermaid Syndrome, in which humans are born with their legs fused (attached) together like a mermaid’s tail. Some people believe that sirenomelia might account for some mermaid sightings. But, sadly, most children suffering from this condition live no more than a few hours after birth. Shiloh, however, defied the odds. She lived for 10 years, until 2009. Milagros Cerron, pictured below, was born with a rare condition called sirenomelia, in which her legs are joined together, like a mermaid’s.

once. But

Of course the cats are talking. Dolphins can talk. Dragons are real. It only makes sense!

We will have to drag ourselves into the ocean,” said Mom. “Everyone, drag yourself into the ocean.

Are you mermaid or are you fairy? Priam said urging Malia to answer. "That's easy! I'm a Fairy just like my dad. He is awesome! My wings are translucent just like his. " Malia said proudly as she opened her wings. Priam busted out in laughter. "Why are you laughing Priam?!" Malia was extremely upset. "Malia, you are not a fairy," he said after catching his breath. "Do you see your huge tail? It's like mine and all the rest of us in Lucky.

Atop the column of spume sat an old man with fins instead of arms, and a fish tail instead of legs. “It’s Poseidon!” yelled Zetes. “It’s Oceanus!” said Atalanta. “It’s that guy from The Little Mermaid!” said Orpheus. The merman sighed and flapped his arm-fins. “Actually, I’m Glaucus. But don’t worry. No one ever gets that right.” The Argonauts muttered among themselves, trying to figure out who Glaucus was. “Oh my gods!” the ship’s prow said. “You people are embarrassing me! Glaucus was a fisherman who ate some magic herbs and became immortal. Now he’s like the Delphic Oracle of the sea!” “Ohhhh.” The crew all nodded like they knew what the prow was talking about.

For a moment I wished I’d gone up to meet them yesterday after all. If I had, maybe I’d be looking around at everything with wide innocent eyes like Shona was doing now, instead of waiting for something awful to happen. But then, if I had, Althea and Marina might not be interested in me. They wouldn’t want a human hanging around with them. And surely Shona wouldn’t either. No, it was the mermaids I wanted to be with. I was one of them now, and that’s how it was going to stay.

Alana swirled around Ariel, her deep magenta tail almost touching her sister's. Her black hair was styled in intricate ringlets that were caught in a bright red piece of coral, its tiny branches and spines separating the curls into tentacles. The effect was amazing- and not a little terrifying.

mermaid

How many times, since she was just a child, had her and Mum hung clothes together here as Mum told her stories? Some real, some pretend, some Helen couldn’t quite tell the difference between. For decades Mum insisted that as a child a true mermaid had been her friend. The mergirl had gotten injured by a fallen rock near Mum’s home, and she claimed to have helped the creature back to health. When Helen was small she accepted the tale as truth, but when she grew and dropped her belief in other fairy tales Mum would insist this was different. “Her tail felt smooth when I would slide my fingers down it, but the scales were sharp if I slid my palm up. I don’t have to pretend it’s true or convince you. I held magic in my hands. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time I realized I had.” “But there’s no such thing as mermaids and magic,” Helen had refuted once. Mum had lowered herself to meet Helen’s eyes. “Oh, there’s magic in this world. Do you think that just because you can explain something that makes it not magic anymore? How a wildflower grows is magic. The first snow of winter? Absolutely. Stand on any theater’s stage and you can’t deny it’s there. Sit on any shore and you’ll always feel it.

There had been a trend a few years back in which a bunch of people pushed lawmakers to allow humans to modify themselves, so they could become cyborg mermaids. I wasn’t sure what the results were. I hadn’t seen any humans with fish tails; real or robotic.

The foil packet sighed as I pulled it open, hissing as it yielded its bounty. Clouds of steam puffed upward, releasing the tantalizing aroma into the air. The fish's reddish skin had a beautiful overlapping pattern that looked as if it had been painted by some wayward mermaid. My sharp scissors snipped the stitches in its belly, spilling the filling onto the plate. I scooped us both two helpings of the garlic fried rice and portioned the desirable parts of the fish, the head and the belly, for Celia, while I took the tail. The piece of fish on my fork bore the sign of perfect execution: moist, milky translucence, and a silky texture that sprang to the touch. Infused with the fragrant stuffing, the tender fish melted in my mouth, dissolving in a mélange of delicious flavors- the trio of boldness from the coriander, garlic, and red onion tempered by the sweet tanginess of the tomatoes. Success.

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​Cora the mermaid sat on the beach enjoying the sunshine. Her father had left on an errand, so she was home alone. She did not mind being alone because it gave her a chance to relax and enjoy the beach. As she flipped her orange tail in the water she heard someone yell.

Magnify that moment by ten, and you have a kid meeting their first mermaid. We do pool parties and aquarium fundraisers and the occasional water park event, and every time we put on our tails and put ourselves on display for a bunch of people who want us to be real, we’re dragging the human race a little closer to remembering what it’s like to believe in happy endings.

Fifteen-year-old Jo was very long and lanky, and reminded one of a skinny squid whose appendages sprouted too fast. She never seemed to know what to do with her emerald tail, which was energetic and very much in her way.