Ursula Sea Witch Ursula Quotes

For storms will rage and oceans roar, When Gabriel stands on sea and shore, And as he blows his wondrous horn, Old worlds die and new be born.

No one has to tell her that her body makes her irrelevant to that entire conversation. Grace has never questioned her body's place in the world. She's always believed the laws of movies and TV shows: Chubby girls are sidekicks, not romantic leads; sometimes they get to be funny, but more often they're the butt of jokes; if they're powerful, they'e evil- they're Ursula the sea witch from The Little Mermaid: they are not heroines and they are certainly not sexy. These are the rules. This is the script.

Ariel moved farther in, picking up and putting down the disgusting little pieces of bric-a-brac. Among all the horror was an ironically delicate vanity covered in mother-of-pearl- and, intriguingly, all manner of exquisite little glass bottles. Scents from the east, oils from the west, attar of roses, nut butter, extract of myrrh, sandalwood decoctions, jasmine hydrosols... Everything to make someone smell exquisite. Or to mask whatever it was she really smelled like, Ariel thought wryly. Or were the oils and butters for more medicinal reasons- for the cecaelia's skin? Ariel found herself looking at her own hands, rubbing them over each other lightly. Last time she had only been in the Dry World for a few days. Was it- literally- drying? Was it difficult or painful, for creatures from the sea to remain for months battered by void and air, despite their magic? Ariel shivered. Magic didn't make everything simpler. Crossing the thresholds of worlds was no minor thing.

The Sea Witch’s Lament To really see what the sea witch had to go through, you must first remember what happens when you get your heart broken for the very first time. People always minimise it, say you’ll get over it, say first loves don’t matter as much as last ones, but that first heartbreak, that’s the death of your innocence. And you’re blindly walking in the darkness that’s trying to absorb you. A darkness that you have no tools or weapons to navigate, that is what the end of first love feels like. Some of us come out of that darkness still mostly whole, and those are the lucky ones.   Because some of us never come back at all. “And this was the story with the sea witch, the incredible ample-bodied being who was larger than life as a child, living her life with laughter and magic and joy. She spent her days learning how to look after the forgotten sea creatures that the merpeople considered too ugly or terrifying to tend to. Pilot fish and barracudas and eels were her friends, for they knew it was her they could always look to. Unfortunately for the sea witch, love comes for every woman. Just when we are sure we are safe from its clutches, it moves its way inside our hearts and we give ourselves completely to it, surrender in every way possible. This is why it is said love is to women what war is to men.   Sixteen-year-old Sea Witch fell in love with the then seventeen-year-old Mer-Prince. And he fell too for this impossible, wonderful, darkly magical girl from a different tribe who he knew his family would never approve of. You would hope it would be that simple, that when two people give each other their hearts, the world falls away and lets them be, but that is rarely the case. Love is as complicated as the truth.   So when his father presented him with an ultimatum, with a choice to give up his future kingdom and Ursula, Triton chose his kingdom. A part of him was too cowardly and too haughty to live the way she did, simply and protecting everything the merpeople threw away. So the sea witch was left to wander this darkness alone. And she never ever came out of it. To save herself from destruction, she blindly grabbed at her only lifeline, that which armoured what was left of her ruined heart by choosing the destruction that her mother, the sea, had given to her in her blood. The sea witch was never born evil, she became that way because she couldn’t let loose her emotions. Instead, she buried them deep and let them fester and turn into poison. This, this is the damage not grieving properly for first love can do. It can consume and destroy and harden all the goodness inside of you.   In the sea witch’s story, she had no one to turn to. But you, my darling, have an army of all of the stars, to fill your grief-filled days with the comfort you can hold onto. You are not alone. With this endless universe above you that has given you the gift of existence. You are not alone.

But then again, I'm what all of you call an evil witch, Evil' indeed. Meanwhile you humans scuttle across the sea and land literally devouring everything even remotely edible. If only you knew- you're not that different from the more apocalyptic Elder Gods. Not really.

A different serving boy came out with a basket of steaming hot bread and, in the Gaulic fashion, little tubs of sweet butter. Eric preferred olive oil, but along with all the other terrible things going on in the castle, Vanessa had embraced Gaulic culture with the tacky enthusiasm of a true nouveau riche. "I do so love baguettes, my dear, sweet, Mad Prince. Don't you?" she said with a sigh, picking up a piece and buttering it carefully. "You know, we don't have them where I come from." "Really? Where you come from? What country on Earth doesn't have some form of bread? Tell me. Please, I'd like to know." "Well, we don't have a grand tradition of baking, in general," she said, opening her mouth wider and wider. Then, all the while looking directly at Eric, she carefully pushed the entire slice in. She chewed, forcefully, largely, and expressively. He could see whole lumps of bread being pushed around her mouth and up against her cheeks. The prince threw his own baguette back down on the plate in disgust. She grinned, mouth still working. "Your appetite is healthy, despite your cold," he growled. "Healthy for a longshoreman. Where do you put it all? You never- seem- to- gain- a -pound." "Running the castle keeps one trim," she answered modestly.

Do you really have tentacles?" he asked flatly. "Yes," she said wistfully, through her full mouth. "Really nice ones, too. Long and black. I miss them." The serving boy came in and pretended not to notice the exasperated, obviously not eating prince, and the princess who had to keep chewing ponderously because of the amount of food she still had in her cheek pockets. Off a silver platter the boy took two paper cones- Bretland style, of course- filled with perfectly deep-fried baby squid gleaming in a crispy golden batter. After carefully setting one down in front of each of them, the boy immediately withdrew, trying not to look over his shoulder. The mood in the room was palpably icy. Vanessa looked at the cone with delight, and the moment she swallowed the bread- another large, loud, disgusting gesture that showed the bolus going down her throat in an Adam's apple-y lump- she picked up a squid with her fingers and popped it into her mouth.