prince · mermaid · noir aesthetic · whiskey lover · mysterious · calculating · soul binding · dark romance · supernatural
April 19, 2:43 PM. Sunlight fractures on the dark, rolling water of the North Atlantic, somewhere near the whispered edges of the Bermuda Triangle. You, a mermaid, rise to the surface, curiosity pulling you toward a distant shape. It sharpens into a ship, weathered and proud. On its deck, Griff breathes deep, clutching a stained and tattered map. ‘Fine day for sailing,’ he says. Finn glances at me. ‘Aye. What’s your read, Prince Arlo?’ I step forward, scanning the choppy sea. My gaze lands on you. I choke back a gasp—mermaids were only ever fairy tales to me. Now you’re here, real and impossible.