The tension between Lena and Mira hung in the air like the weight of an impending storm. Days passed, but the encounter by the lake and their brief, unsettling conversation echoed in Lena's mind. No matter how hard she tried to avoid Mira, something unspoken seemed to pull them together, and Lena couldn't escape the sense that her life was gradually slipping out of her control.
It didn't help that Mira acted as if nothing had changed.
At school, Mira was always surrounded by people—smiling, laughing, blending in with the other students as though she were just another girl. But Lena knew better. She knew what lay beneath that perfect surface. Yet, every time their paths crossed in the halls or the cafeteria, Mira would glance at her, just for a moment, with those piercing eyes that sent chills down Lena's spine.
There was a silent understanding between them now. Neither spoke about what had happened by the lake, but both knew it would never truly go away.
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Lena's routine had become mechanical, each day blending into the next. She went to school, sat in the back of the classroom, and avoided everyone. She kept her distance. After all, distance was what kept her safe—or so she told herself. But despite her best efforts, she couldn't shake the growing sense of isolation. No one spoke to her unless they had to, and she liked it that way—at least, that's what she kept telling herself.
The truth, though, was harder to face.
Lena missed the city. She missed the noise, the anonymity, the way she could disappear into a crowd. Here in Elmswater, everyone saw her, and her beauty made her a target once again—this time, not for bullying, but for attention. Unwanted attention. The girls whispered behind her back, and the boys looked at her as if she were something fragile and untouchable. She hated it.
It was suffocating.
Yet, no matter how much she resented her situation, Lena found herself unable to avoid the one person she most wanted to escape from. Mira.
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It was late afternoon when Lena found herself back at the lake. She didn't plan to go there, but somehow, her feet had taken her down the familiar path. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the water. It was calm, unnervingly still, as if the lake itself were waiting for something.
Lena stood at the shore, her arms wrapped around herself, watching the gentle ripples spread across the surface. This place had always unsettled her, but now it felt worse. She couldn't look at the water without thinking of Mira—without remembering that day and the blood, and the cold hunger in her eyes.
As the light began to fade, Lena's unease deepened. She turned to leave, but a voice behind her froze her in place.
"You came back."
Mira's voice was soft, barely a whisper against the breeze. Lena didn't have to turn around to know who it was. The air seemed to change when she was near, charged with an unspoken tension that made Lena's pulse quicken.
She exhaled slowly before turning to face her.
Mira stood at the edge of the trees, watching Lena with that same calm intensity. Her hair, long and dark, framed her pale face, and her eyes—the same unnerving brightness Lena remembered—seemed to glow in the fading light. There was something eerie about how she blended into the landscape, like she belonged here more than any human could.
"I wasn't looking for you," Lena said, her voice sharper than she intended.
Mira didn't respond immediately. She just watched her, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "Maybe not," she said, taking a step closer, "but you came here anyway."
Lena's skin prickled with discomfort. Mira had a way of cutting through her defenses without even trying, like she could see through every lie Lena told herself.
"What do you want?" Lena asked, folding her arms tightly across her chest. She hoped it would hide the nervous tremor in her hands.
Mira stopped a few feet away, her expression softening. "You're scared of me."
It wasn't a question. It was a simple, undeniable truth. Lena swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to deny it, to tell Mira that she wasn't scared of anyone, but the words stuck in her throat.
Instead, she said nothing.
Mira's gaze held hers, unwavering, and in that silence, Lena felt exposed, vulnerable. As if Mira could see everything she was trying to hide—not just the fear, but the loneliness, the confusion, the strange, unexplainable pull she felt toward her.
Mira sighed softly, her smile fading. "You don't have to be."
Lena frowned. "I saw what you did. I saw what you are."
Mira's eyes darkened, the brightness fading just for a moment. "You saw a part of me," she said, her voice quiet. "But that's not all there is."
Lena wanted to believe her. She wanted to think that the girl standing in front of her wasn't a monster, but every instinct told her to keep her distance. Yet, despite the fear gnawing at her, Lena found herself stepping closer.
"I don't know what you are," Lena said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But you're not… human."
Mira's gaze dropped to the ground, and for the first time, Lena saw something she hadn't expected—sadness. Regret.
"No," Mira said softly. "I'm not."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and final. Lena's heart raced, her mind spinning with questions she didn't know how to ask. She should have turned and walked away. She should have run. But instead, she stood there, caught in the strange gravity that seemed to pull her toward Mira.
"I didn't want you to see that part of me," Mira continued, her voice low. "But I didn't have a choice."
Lena's throat tightened. "And what if I tell someone? What if—"
"You won't."
The certainty in Mira's voice startled her. Lena stared at her, unable to look away. "How do you know?"
Mira's smile returned, faint but real. "Because you're curious. You want to know more."
Lena's breath caught in her throat. Mira was right. As much as she feared what Mira might be, there was something else inside her—a deep, gnawing curiosity that wouldn't let her turn away. She needed answers. She needed to understand why Mira was different.
"What are you?" Lena asked, the words slipping out before she could stop herself.
For a moment, Mira was silent. The wind stirred, rustling the leaves around them, and the lake's surface rippled with the faintest touch of a breeze. Mira's eyes flicked to the water before returning to Lena's.
"I'm something… old," Mira said slowly. "Something that's been part of this lake, this place, for longer than you can imagine."
Lena's pulse quickened, but she stayed silent, waiting for more.
"I'm a creature of the water," Mira continued. "A mermaid, if that's what you want to call me. But not like the stories you've heard. My kind—we're not beautiful, enchanting things. We're predators. We hunt. We feed."
Lena's chest tightened. It was worse than she had thought. The image of Mira tearing into the deer's flesh flashed in her mind, and her stomach churned.
"Then why haven't you…?" Lena's voice faltered. "Why haven't you hurt me?"
Mira took a slow, deliberate step closer. She was near enough now that Lena could see the faint shimmer of scales beneath her skin, barely visible in the dying light.
"Because I don't want to," Mira whispered, her gaze locking onto Lena's. "You're not like the others."
Lena's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing. She didn't know what to say, what to think. But deep down, beneath the fear and confusion, something else stirred—something she didn't fully understand.
A connection.
She felt drawn to Mira, as if there was an invisible thread tying them together, pulling them closer despite everything that had happened. And that terrified her more than anything else.
"I don't know what you want from me," Lena said, her voice trembling. "I don't know why I'm still here."
Mira's smile was soft, almost sad. "Neither do I," she admitted. "But I do know one thing, Lena."
"What?"
Mira reached out, her fingers brushing against Lena's arm, sending a shock of warmth through her. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, not the cold, predatory contact Lena had expected.
"We're not as different as you think."