I was deep in sleep when my mother's voice shattered the stillness.
"Ariel!" she called — sharp, urgent, and far too early for my liking.
I stirred, groaning into my pillow, the remnants of sleep still clinging to me.
"Just a minute…", I muttered, the words barely forming, tangled in drowsy defiance.
The morning light slipped through the cracked shutters, golden and soft — far too gentle for the chaos below. I rose slowly, moving as if the air itself resisted me. The stone floor kissed my feet with its cold touch as I padded to the basin.
I brushed my teeth, washed away sleep, and let the water soothe what little rebellion remained. I was just pulling a brush through the waves of my hair when—
"Ariel, come downstairs this instant, young lady!"
My father's voice. Firm. Final. Echoing up the stairs like a warning bell.
"On my way!" I called back, voice hurried.
With a sigh, I tossed the brush aside, gathered my skirts, and raced down the stairs.
---
I descended the stairs, the wooden steps creaking beneath my hurried feet, the scent of spice and warm bread drifting through the hallway like a soft invitation.
In the kitchen, which was already lively.
My mother stood at the hearth, apron dusted in flour, her blonde soft hair pinned back in loose defiance of the morning's heat. Beside her, my two sisters were busy at work — one kneading dough with practiced fingers, the other slicing herbs with a rhythm as familiar as breath.
Their laughter danced through the air, light and effortless.
"There you are," my mother said without looking. Her voice wasn't angry, just full — full of the weight mothers carry before the world wakes.
"Come wash the fruit and set the table," she added, handing me a woven basket of apples and thornberries, still dewy from the morning pick.
I nodded wordlessly, moving to the basin as the chatter of my sisters filled the room like birdsong.
"Set the table," she said, nodding toward the plates. "Help your sisters."
"Yes, Mother." My voice was even, practiced.
I moved to the table, arranging silver and stoneware, trying to ignore the glances from across the Daphne and Anna were already seated, exchanging smirks like secrets.
When breakfast was laid and the silence long enough to be uncomfortable, Mother cleared her throat.
"Ariel.Daphne.Anna" Her voice had that false sweetness she used before delivering orders. "Don't you think it's time you each found a husband? I'm growing tired of you three lazing under my roof like girls with no purpose." Daphne sat up straighter, eyes gleaming with the vanity she wore like perfume.
"Worry not, Mother," she said. "I'll soon be marrying the king. Queen Daphne… has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
"You wish." Anna rolled her eyes. "Queen of what? That sour mouth of yours?"
"As we all know," Daphne shot back, with a proud toss of her hair, "I'm the most beautiful. What could possibly stop me from becoming queen?"
I let out a quiet laugh — sharp and quick.
"And what's so funny, Ariel?" Daphne hissed. "A mere human like you won't be married before either of us. You should be grateful to serve us when I'm crowned."
The two of them burst into laughter again, their cackles echoing like spoons in an empty pot.
"Girls!" Mother snapped. "That's no way to speak to your younger sister."
"It's fine," I said, gently, eyes still lowered.
"Is not like I care what they think "
At that moment, my father looked up from his morning tea. His silence had been long, but deliberate. Now, he set his cup down, voice deep and calm.
"Let her be," he said. "Ariel was born with more brains in her than the two of you combined. If she does not wish to marry, she shouldn't be forced to."
The room went still.
Even Mother, always ready with a retort, said nothing for a breath too long.
Then, in her usual way, she chose to ignore the sentiment.
"Speaking of suitors," she said, voice stiff, "where is your brother?"
I blinked. "Oh no. I'm late—" I stood quickly, grabbing the edge of the table.
"Late for what? More swordplay in the woods?" Anna taunted.
"Maybe you'll meet a suitor who likes muddy boots and broken fingernails," Daphne added, her voice dripping with delight.
They laughed again.
"Not like I'm the oldest,"I muttered under my breath as I turned to leave.
"Huh? Mother—did you hear that?"Daphne screeched. "Are you going to let this brat insult me at the table?"
My mother said nothing, but her gaze followed me. Not with warmth. Not with anger. Just... weariness.
"Darling,"my father interjected gently, "at least eat something first."
But I had already grabbed a bow and arrow, tossed in a crust of bread into my small pocket bag, and made for the door.
"I'll be back soon!" I shouted over my shoulder as I slipped into the morning mist.