In a sprawling urban landscape, amidst the bustling streets and vibrant city life, there existed a hidden realm of magic and enchantment. Here, the dreams and desires of its inhabitants intertwined with the extraordinary, creating a tapestry of wonder and possibility. Within this realm dwelled a talented artist, his brush imbued with a touch of the otherworldly. With each stroke, he breathed life into his creations, infusing them with a vibrancy that defied the limitations of the canvas. Yet, a longing burned deep within his soul, a love that tormented his restless heart.

Amidst the swirling crowds and cacophony of voices, there was a woman who captured his imagination. Her mere presence ignited a flame within him, drawing his gaze like a moth to a flickering flame. He yearned to capture her essence, to immortalize her in his art, but her enigmatic allure eluded him. Driven to the brink of desperation, the artist's obsession consumed him. Day and night, he tirelessly painted, attempting to recreate her beauty, but each stroke fell short, leaving the canvas void of her captivating spirit. The weight of unfulfilled longing pressed upon his mind, distorting his perception and driving him further into madness.

In his fervor, he ventured deep into the underbelly of the city, seeking an answer to his plight. In the dim recesses of a forgotten shop, he encountered a crone, her eyes gleaming with a twisted wisdom. She offered him a vial of shimmering liquid, promising it held the power to capture the unattainable. Eagerly, he accepted the elixir and returned to his studio, trembling with anticipation. As he dipped his brush into the potion, an electric surge coursed through his veins. The strokes that followed were marked by an otherworldly brilliance, guided by an unseen force.

The woman materialized on the canvas, her beauty ethereal, her eyes shimmering with haunting allure. The artist, lost in his madness, believed he had succeeded. But as the paint dried, a horrifying realization struck him like a thunderbolt. The enchantment had not captured her essence; it had transformed her into the very canvas he had painted. The woman's life force, her spirit, now trapped within the fractured surface of his creation. Soon after he had unwittingly killed her by shattering the canvas in his frenzied act of desperation and terror.

Guilt and despair consumed the artist, his mind fracturing further under the weight of his crime. The lines between reality and illusion blurred, as the haunting whispers of the woman's lost voice echoed in his ears. He recoiled from the once-beloved art that had become a vessel of tragedy and destruction. Haunted by the consequences of his obsession, the artist descended into a madness that knew no bounds. He became a ghostly figure, wandering the urban landscape, tormented by the specter of his unrequited love and the knowledge of his role in her demise.

In the chilling crags, a child cast away,
Alone amidst madness, his mind's disarray.
His heart grew haunted, a wildfire unleashed,
A star of seething madness, his soul now deceased.

Forgotten and forsaken, he embraced the freeze,
His mind twisted, a tempest of tormented unease.
His radiance, a raving storm that razed the night,
Devouring dreams, drenched in delirium's blight.

The snowflakes shivered, trembling 'neath his glare,
As his lunacy blazed, his torment stripped them bare.
No warmth or solace in his wild, wailing shriek,
Only madness and mayhem, the world at its peak.

A child no more, but a comet crazed by despair,
A maelstrom of madness, a dance with devilish flair.
In the desolate depths, his legacy forever scrawled,
A chilling testament to the depths of minds enthralled.

As his lunacy flared, his soul turned frigid and stark,
No redemption or respite, only madness left to hark.
The once innocent child, lost in a maniacal haze,
Became a burning star, his mind an infernal maze.

Like many other women before, she found herself bound and broken, bleeding from many wounds afflicted to her. Why? Because she was different. She spoke up for herself, she knew how to heal her ailments. And those who did not understand called her a witch.

A wheezing breath was all she could really hear around her, her body had been beaten so badly she couldn't even see properly. Between the smell and taste of iron there was something salty, and the call of a seagull nearby. The words of God barked around her, before her chained body was kicked off the cliff.

The impact into the ice-cold ocean was a blessing and curse at the same time. Whereas she knew she would feel pain for the last time, her last moments would also be a struggle. A stone tied to her feet dragged her down into the depths, darkness started to envelop her. Her lifeline in form of bubble escaped her lips, and with it the life she once led.

In the dark her fading eyes could not see the many others who had followed the same fate. Nor would anyone wish to give her that sight. Rotted bloating bodies, half eaten by fish and other feeders. But something else lurked around them, something much larger and more intelligent than a predator. From the dark a soft glow illuminated her surroundings, the woman who was drifting off into her eternal slumber could feel hands press against her numb body. Death's embrace, she thought. Instead she felt gentle lips against her own while her heart stopped, but the dreaded and yet welcomed void would not come for her.

In stasis she floated, hovered, left with thoughts which felt less and less like her own. How long has it been? Why was she still here, stuck as a corpse at the bottom of the ocean? Days, months, maybe even years. But as slow as this drifting was, changes were felt. Tugging of her flesh by animals laid way to scales more brilliant than any dress she had worn in her life. Her wispy blonde hair turned a brilliant gold. Each day a little more of her old shell flaked away. She could feel muscles move, her bones change. It was excitement in this nothing that was her undeath. Torn away eyes filled anew as if pearls from a seed of sand. Lungs reformed and broke through her neck as gills.

More and more this woman became less human, and more... serene. An ethereal being of water, indistinguishable from gender. Shimmering scales reflected the slight glow of tendril-like fins, the more she grew the less restricted she felt. Others like her had long left their rebirth spot, left behind were tattered fibres and a rock clinging onto a piece of rope.

A dull thump hit the water above, a once familiar sound now long forgotten. But instinct pushed this beautiful creature along the waves, to carry on the burden of the innocent. The cycle repeats, and another woman enters the coven of the mermaids.