The ride from Eldhollow to the border town of Greydock was long, bumpy, and soaked with the lingering remnant of the storm. The carriage smelt of damp wood and old pine, and its creaking frame groaned with every turn. Elowen sat quietly, curled against the window, watching the dripping trees blur past.
Though she had left in frustration, the sight of the familiar narrow path leading to her home softened her heart.
Her family's cottage sat nestled between two rocky hills and was hugged by a forest of silver- leafed trees. The roof, shingled with old clay tiles, slanted like a hat against the wind, and the porch was lined with little potted herbs that shivered under the rain. Smoke rose from the chimney, curling up like a lullaby into the darkening sky.
It wasn't grand, but it was home- peaceful and warm. Manageable, even with her father gone and her brother away with the army. Letters and coin came often enough to keep them afloat. It was her mother's thrift and strength that helped them.
As the carriage rolled away, the front door swung open.
"Elowen!" her foster mother gasped, standing under the porch with arms outstretched. "You're soaked through!"
Marianne, a beautiful woman with streaks of silver in her hair and kindness tucked into every smile, pulled Elowen into a tight embrace. Her scent- lavender and dry rose- always calmed her.
"Come in, come in. you'll catch your death!"
Inside, the smell of spice and simmering stew filled the air. The living room was warm, lined with quilted furniture, oil paintings, and family relics. A soft fire crackled in the hearth.
"Thank the sea you're safe," came a softer voice from the hallway.
It was Maeryn, their live- in help and longtime companion. A woman of advancing age with eyes sharp as needles and a voice like velvet and gravel. She'd been with them since Elowen was small.
"She's just like her mother," Maeryn added as she took Elowen's wet cloak. "Stubborn and wild."
"I take offense," Marianne said with a grin. "I was ambitious. Not wild."
"Oh, hush," Maeryn replied, waddling off with the cloak. "You were worse than her."
Elowen laughed, brushing her damp curls back. "It was a long day,"
They gathered near the fire, Elowen seated with her legs curled beneath her.
"How was the theater?" Marianne asked, pouring her daughter tea.
Elowen sighed, her smile fading. "Disappointing. The director didn't even let me read. Said I looked too… delicate."
Marianne frowned, stroking her daughter's hand. "Men fear what they can't control."
Elowen hesitated, then added, "Some of them were worse. One tried to touch me when I passed behind the curtain."
Marianne expression darkened, but she masked it quickly. "Did he succeed?"
"Of course not." Elowen's eyes sparked. "I smacked with a costume stick. He fell into a barrel of wigs."
Both women chuckled.
"And I supposed that's when you stormed off into the rain?" Marianne asked knowingly.
"I hate men," Elowen muttered, sipping her tea.
"You hate foolish men," her mother corrected. "The world's full of them. But there are good ones too- your brother, for instance."
"I suppose," she said, unconvinced.
"Do you know," Marianne began, her eyes dancing with nostalgia, "when I was your age, I worked for the merchant guild. I was the only woman on the payroll. They said I'd never make it."
"But you did."
"I did. And so will you, in your own way. Don't let a few sour apples turn your heart bitter."
Elowen smiled, warmth blooming again. "Thanks, Mum."
Maeryn returned with a covered bowl in hand. "Enough sulking. I made your favorite- rosemary root stew."
Elowen gasped. "Really?"
"You'll feel better once it's in your belly."
As they shared dinner, laughter returned. They spoke of letters from her brother, of the goat that kept escaping the pen, of Maeryn's insistence that their neigbour was a witch (though no one doubted it), and of the coming harvest festival.
Later, Elowen helped cleared the dishes, humming softly.
In the kitchen, she lifted a steaming pot to pour the remaining broth into a jar- but her grip slipped. The hot liquid splashed across her wrist, and she yelped, the pot clattering loudly to the ground.
Pain bloomed instantly, sharp and blistering.
But something else came with it.
A familiar sensation. Cooling. Spreading.
Her breath caught.
She stared at her skin- and saw it shimmer.
Her legs trembled. Scales- iridescent and silver- blue…began appearing across her calves, inching upward. Her eyes flickered in the hanging pot's reflection, now glowing faintly with oceanic light.
"No," she whispered, backing away.
She ran to the bathing chamber and filled the copper tub with water. Her hand trembled as she opened the shelf beneath and pulled out a black stone and a small jar of salt.
She poured both in quickly and slipped inside just as the transformation surged through her.
Her legs split.
Fins unfolded like silk ribbons in the water, her hair floated around her in glowing waves, and her breath grew shallow with panic.
She was turning- and too quickly.
"Maeryn!" she screamed. "Help!"
Maeryn burst in seconds later, eyes widening at the sight.
"Get more blackstones!" Elowen cried. "Now!"
Without a ward, Maeryn rushed from the room.
Moments later, she reached the cellar under the pantry and pressed her palm to the hidden floorboard.
Inside a small stone vault was a pouch of salted blackstone, carefully preserved. Marianne knelt, snatched it, and whispered a prayer to the sea.
By the time, they returned to the bath, Elowen's transformation had slowed but not stopped. Her fins shimmered faintly above the water, and her chest heaved.
Marianne dropped the stone into the water. "Breathe, darling. You're okay."
Elowen nodded, eyes glassy. "It happened so fast."
She had always tried disguising amongst humans.
"The sea is weakening," Marianne said grimly. "You're growing stronger."
"And the sea knows," Maeryn whispered.
Outside, thunder rolled once more across the hills. And deep beneath the waves, something ancient stirred.