The Moon Bride of the Deep

High above the whispering sea, where the sky yawns wide in cold midnight silence, a crescent moon cradled a ghostly figure—a mermaid bride draped in sorrow. Her name was Lysaria. Once, she belonged to the deep—ruler of the coral court, daughter of the tide. Her heart had once beat for a prince, a land-dweller with a voice like thunder and eyes like dawn. Every night, she swam to the rocks to listen to his songs, her fins shimmering beneath the moonlight, unnoticed and aching. But one night, under a blood moon, he saw her. And the next night, he returned with a vow: "Marry me, under the stars. I’ll wait by the old lighthouse, in white." She wove a dress of seafoam and pearls. She sang to the waves for a spell that would give her legs. And she climbed from the sea, her heart heavy with hope, the moonlight blessing her pale, trembling hands. But he never came. The tide rolled in, and he was gone—perhaps afraid, perhaps drowned, perhaps he never meant his promise at all. Heart shattered, Lysaria ran from the shore, back into the ocean’s embrace. But the magic had taken too much from her—she could no longer return to the depths, nor walk among men. So she climbed the sky instead. Now she sits on the crescent moon each night, her wedding dress dragging like mist through the stars. The silk hangs off her frail shoulders like a memory. Veil tattered. Hair tangled in stardust. Eyes hollow, searching. The moon glows pale and cold around her, holding her like a cradle of grief. Beneath her, the sea mourns quietly, and the world below forgets. And yet, every night, she waits. Still. Silent. For a love that promised the stars… and left her to drown in the dark.