The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea

by Maggie Tokuda-Hall

“Let us hope he’s kind, and gentle, and handsome, and that you bear him a hundred sons.” She gave what was surely meant to be a reassuring look that provided no salve for Evelyn’s pain. The notion of one hundred sons seemed too cruel a punishment for any sin she may have committed in her short life.

She was not a creature of courage, but she was one of spite. This one little rebellion would sate that, at least.

Perhaps the pirates and the witches were right to worship the sea. The sea did not die. The sea was no man.

“What would you give?” Xenobia asked. Her voice was a whisper, a breeze of promises too impossible to keep. “To have agency in this world? To see your will done, to control your own story? To be powerful? Free?” Anything.

“There are those who are neither a man nor a woman. Those who were born and called the wrong gender and must reshape their story for those around them. But you. You’re something else. You’re whatever is safe. Both, maybe, but not neither. Or interchangeable. Names are funny things, because they can feel like lies but tell our truths.”

His eyes were alight with desire. But he was not listening, not really. He simply waited expectantly in that way men sometimes did when waiting for their chance to talk.

“There is no comfort except for time,” Rake said. “But I’ll stand by you until you ask me to leave.”