The Siren's Scion

My sister has awakened her mermaid bloodline, but it is incomplete.

Her skin is her curse. A single touch, too hard, and it cracks.

For her, everything hard in our house has been thrown away.

I love to dance, but the hard tips of ballet shoes are forbidden. I love music, but the strings of a guitar or the keys of a piano are too dangerous.

Every dream I've ever had has been strangled in its cradle because of my sister's condition.

My brother, Liam, who raised us both, always looks at me with tired, pleading eyes. "Elara is fragile, Isla. You have to be understanding."

But I was only eighteen the first time I truly understood.

I came home from my high school graduation ceremony, the scent of sunshine and excitement still on my clothes. The moment I stepped inside, Elara's hand connected with my cheek. Hard. For no reason at all.

Everyone rushed to her. Liam pointed a furious finger at me. "Look what you've done! You've hurt her hand! How could you be so careless?"

He shoved me aside and rushed out with Elara to find a doctor.

I fell back against the glass coffee table, the impact jarring. And then, a strange, cold pain bloomed across my back. I felt my skin... tear.

It was then I remembered the doctor's words from my last check-up: "You carry the Siren's Gene, Isla. It could manifest at any time."

As my vision blurred, my own blood pooling on the pristine white floor, I finally understood.

The curse wasn't just my sister's. It was mine, too.

...

"Isla! What did you do to upset Elara?"

Liam's voice was a thunderclap as he came down the stairs. He saw Elara, her hand still raised from striking me, but his eyes skipped over my red, stinging cheek. His gaze held only accusation and annoyance for me.

He rushed past, shoving me aside so hard I stumbled and fell onto the thick rug. He gently took Elara's hand, his face crumbling as he saw the fine, bloody cracks spreading across her knuckles.

He turned, his eyes cold, and grabbed a heavy crystal vase from a side table, hurling it in my direction. It shattered against the wall next to my head. "How many times have I told you? Do not. Upset. Your sister! Is that so hard to understand? Her body is fragile! Is your skin so thick you don't feel anything?"

A fresh, searing pain erupted across my back where I'd landed. A faint, cracking sound, like thin ice breaking, whispered from my own body.

I stared at him, disbelief a bitter taste in my mouth. I was the one who had been hit.

Elara, safe in Liam's embrace, watched me with an unreadable look in her sea-green eyes.

"She came in and started yelling at me!" Elara cried, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch. "Liam, I can't stand her! Send her away! Please, send her away!"

The look of pure hatred she gave me then was ancient. We weren't sisters; we were rivals. Enemies.

My heart, despite years of her coldness, felt like it was bleeding inside my chest.

Liam looked from Elara's bleeding, trembling hand to me, shaking his head in profound disappointment. "Isla, you have no idea how much you've let me down." Then, to Elara, his voice softened to a whisper. "Shhh, it's okay. I'll send her away. She won't bother you again."

He lifted her carefully and rushed out, our parents following in his wake without a single glance my way. Elara's eyes met mine over his shoulder, and for a fleeting second, I saw something like grim satisfaction.

I lay on the floor, the cold pain intensifying, spreading through my limbs like a winter chill. "L-Liam..." I stretched a hand toward the empty doorway, my voice a ragged thread.

When I moved my arm, the cracking sound came again. I looked down. The skin on my forearm was splitting open, fine lines appearing like a fractured porcelain doll.

Horror locked my breath in my lungs.

The back of my shirt was growing damp, sticky. The metallic tang of blood filled my nose. Pushing through the agony, I dragged myself toward the front door.

"Help... me... please..." I whispered, my tears tracing hot paths down my cheeks, causing the delicate skin there to fissure instantly.

A trail of smeared blood marked my pathetic progress. I collapsed, my strength gone, a mere meter from the door. My head spun, memories flooding my fading consciousness.

From the moment I could remember, I knew my sister was different. Not just because of her fragile skin, but because other sisters were loved. Mine saw me as a threat.

At six, a visiting dance instructor saw me moving to a commercial on the television. She said I had a natural grace. She gave me a pair of soft leather dance shoes. I ran home, bursting with excitement to show Elara.

She took one look at the firm, structured shoes and screamed. "You want to hurt me! You want all the attention for yourself!"

The hard tip of the shoe she'd snatched from my hand had grazed her palm, drawing tiny beads of blood. I was frozen in fear. When Liam came home, he tended to her wound, then sighed wearily. "Isla, you know the rules. No hard objects. No more dancing."

My dreams, my talent, were buried at six years old.

The ringing of my phone on the table pulled me back to the present. I tried to crawl toward it, but my body was a lead weight, glued to the floor by my own blood. The caller gave up after five rings.

The overhead light flickered in my watery vision. The blood kept spreading. My tears kept falling.