Because You Love To Hate Me

by Ameriie

  “You are no longer one of us,” Lorindel said, one lip curled with disgust as he inspected my serpentine body. “You do not belong here, Nerit.”

  All around the crystal throne room, merfolk tittered at Lorindel’s spite and my chastisement. In my absence, the old king had died and Lorindel had ascended to his throne. Predictably, he had taken Beldine for his wife. She sat beside him nursing a newborn child—their sixth daughter, I was told.

  I tightened my hands into angry fists. I yearned to scream at him, to tell him that this was the only place I could possibly belong. But then, no, maybe I had never belonged here at all, and maybe this was his fault, and those like him. Those whose minds were too small to appreciate my talents. Those who had treated me as an outcast long before they had cause to.

  “Where would you have me go, Your Majesty?” I asked with no effort to mask my derision. “For you say I do not belong in your kingdom beneath the sea, yet I do not belong to the world above, either.”

  Lorindel snarled. “Where you go is not my concern. You are an abomination and a disgrace. I will not have you sullying my kingdom with your presence. If my people choose to seek you out for your dark talents, I cannot stop them, but I will take no part of it. From henceforth, you are not welcome here.”

  Not welcome here.

  Fury burned in my chest, clawing its way to the surface of my skin. Who was this man to decide where I was or was not welcome? Who was he to belittle what I had gone through, the suffering I had endured, when he could have prevented all of it with nothing more than a smile and a word of kindness?

  Not just Lorindel. All of them. Samuel and Beldine and the entire kingdom and the entire world. They had all shunned me, belittled my work, mocked my dreams, betrayed my heart.

  There was no kindness to be found here. Not for poor, pathetic Nerit.

  I narrowed my eyes and my gaze drifted back to the newborn child. She was wrapped in a seal pelt blanket. A shining tail swished drowsily, prettily from the swaddling.

  I turned my attention back to the Sea King, a smile sharpening over my teeth.

  “Cast me out, then, if that is your wish. For you are right, oh, my wise king. Once they know what I can do, your people will seek me out for my dark talents. The innocent ones and the desperate ones. And help they shall receive, though great misery will come to all who do not heed the warnings of my terrible magic. My own misery is proof enough of that.”

  I turned away. The gathered merfolk parted to let me pass, their eyes following me with wary distrust. This time, for the first time, they had every reason to be frightened of me. I was the stuff of their childhood nightmares, after all. Those sickly, slimy creatures that lurked in the depths, drunk on their own wickedness.

  Never mind their fear. They would still come, those innocent, desperate fools. They would come to me for gifts and blessings and curses. They would come for poisons and cures, and I would fulfill their wishes and deliver to them their miserable fates, as my fate had been delivered to me.

  I was an abomination, undone and rewoven back together. I was the sea witch.

  ZOË HERDT’S VILLAIN CHALLENGE TO MARISSA MEYER:

  What If the Sea Witch Had Previously Been in the Little Mermaid’s Shoes but Decided to Kill the Love Interest and Turn Back into a Mermaid Instead?

  VILLAIN OR HERO? YOU DECIDE!

  BY ZOË HERDT

  I’ve been thinking about our villain, Nerit. She faced life-altering decisions every step of the way—when her love potion plot was outed, when she fell in love with Samuel, and when she left her kingdom for the very last time. She chose to take her life in her own hands rather than blindly follow the norms of her society out of fear. Even though it cannot be said that Nerit made the kindest choices—I mean, she did murder someone—she always stuck to her own beliefs, and that is admirable.

  We all dream about doing something larger than life. The difference between the hero and the villain is that the villain always takes that dream and forcibly tries to make it into a reality, no matter the obstacles in the way. Nerit dreamed about being loved by someone who was as equally unashamed of her as she was of herself. When the opportunity arose twice, with both Lorindel and Samuel, she went against moral and social conventions to try to make it come true, performing powerful and illegal magic that could—and did—result in morally questionable consequences. Nerit didn’t focus on the cons, however, as she had faith in her own talents and was willing to go to the ends of the earth to get what she wanted. Say what you want about her, but Nerit is fearless.

  Now, I think I’m a relatively good person. I brake for squirrels that run into the street, and I’m proud to say I’ve never cheated on any of my school tests, though that’s not to say I’ve never given the latter much thought. While staring down at a blank Scantron sheet during an AP calculus test that I was totally unprepared for, you bet I was dreaming how great it would be to sneak a little peek at the test of the student next to me. She was flying through those questions with ease, and the right answers were there for the plucking.

  The problem is, I am a coward. Despite how desperately I needed those answers, I could not and would not dare try that sneaky maneuver. I just knew in every fiber of my being that the moment I turned my eyes even a fraction of an inch to the left, my teacher would pounce on me and that would be it. I would be thrown out of school and forced to live a wandering life on the streets, out of work, because who in their right minds would hire a seventeen-year-old who can’t solve a simple derivative? Oh, and on top of that, it was wrong, against the rules, and did I say wrong?

  Okay, that might be a tad dramatic, but honestly, that’s what passes through my mind every time I toy around with the idea of doing something bad. My focus always jumps immediately to the consequences, usually overdramatizing them to the point that I believe this one decision, no matter how small, will dictate how the rest of my life plays out. I then decide that it’s better to play it safe and do the right thing rather than follow that inner voice that tempts me to take the other path.

  Are you like Nerit? Find out if you are a hero or a villain with this quiz.

  WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

  1)You are traveling on a path when you pass an old woman begging for food. She looks hungry, but you have only a small loaf of bread and need something to eat for the next day of your journey. You . . .

  a.Keep it for yourself. You need the food for energy, and you’re sure someone else will come by with food for her.

  b.Give the old woman your food. You don’t know how long she’s been without food, and you can find something when you get to your destination.

  2)After your teacher leaves the room, you notice that the answer sheet for the next test is sitting on the edge of her desk. You . . .

  a.Take a look. If your teacher didn’t want you to see it, why did she leave it in plain sight?

  b.Close your eyes and flip it over. You and your classmates will pass or fail on your own.

  3)You are offered the opportunity of a lifetime! Unfortunately, if you take it, you will hurt your friend’s feelings. You . . .

  a.Take it. These opportunities don’t come around every day, and your friend will understand. If they don’t, were you ever really friends?

  b.Turn it down. Friendship is more important than any opportunity. What’s success without someone to share it with, right?

  4)While you are walking, you stumble upon an ancient spell book that teaches powerful dark magic. You . . .

  a.Read it. You might not use it, but it’s good to know—just in case.

  b.Give it to the proper authorities so they can destroy it. No one should have access to something this dangerous.

  5)Like Nerit, your true love—or so you thought—betrayed you after you risked your entire life to be with him or her. You . . .

  a.Return the favor. As they will soon know, you are not to be messed with.

  b.Move on. Creating more pain won’t solve any problems.

  ANSWER KEY:


  Mostly A’s: Villain

  Though you might not feel the urge to go on a crime spree, you possess all the tools you need to become a serious villain. Some may call you selfish—but you think you’re really just looking out for yourself. Just bear in mind that stories are fiction—the villains in real life face real consequences.

  Mostly B’s: Hero

  Welcome to the club. True, you might not always get the recognition you want or deserve as you’re busy looking out for others, but people can rest easy knowing you’re always there to help.

  BEAUTIFUL VENOM

  BY CINDY PON

  What did it feel like to have your body slowly turn into stone?

  Mei Du slithered between the dust-coated statues of gods and goddesses and knocked them over, one by one, with a swipe of her powerful serpent body. They were large figures and crashed with thunderous noise. She avoided the tumbling stone fragments with finesse, smooth and graceful as a dancer, sliding between their ruins. Dust obscured her vision, rising high toward the pitched temple roof.

  She paused in front of the lone statue that remained, and as the air cleared, the Goddess of Purity’s impassive face emerged, perfect lips pressed together in an enigmatic smile, the orbs of her marble eyes blank and unyielding. She stood tall and majestic, the folds of her white robe carved to drape elegantly over her frame. One hand was pressed over her heart, and the other arm was extended, palm lifted heavenward, as if in benevolence or forgiveness.

  But Mei Du knew the truth.

  From the time she was just a girl, Mei Du had prayed to the Goddess of Purity, believing her to be just and the protector of women. But no longer. The goddess’s betrayal still stung. Mei Du had thought that her heart had grown as cold and hard as all the mortals she had turned into stone, but the Goddess of Purity’s image pained her like a fresh-cut wound. She fought the urge to cower and sob, remembering the humiliation and hurt like it’d happened yesterday—and she was once again a helpless girl with some other name.

  The snakes on her head hissed, thrashing until her scalp burned. Mei Du raked her yellowed nails over her face, crusted with warts and pustules, eyes roving to the dark corners of the derelict temple. She listened, the rough green scales of her arms prickling.

  A man was approaching.

  She had been on the run for centuries, but her legend and infamy had only grown, as had the number of those who were determined to slay her. Always men—she knew they pursued her with murder on their minds, for there was no capturing the evil Mei Du alive. Death was the only solution, the only ending to her story.

  Yet she had eluded them this long—had suffered their taunts and curses, the burning and cutting, the stones hurled at her head. After years of abuse, she had turned on her persecutors, wanting vengeance and enjoying grim satisfaction in their deaths. She refused to remain a victim.

  Morning light filtered through the broken lattice windows above, penetrated the eroded wood of the massive door panels. The temple door scraped open, and she flexed her hands. There had been rumors. Rumors whispered enough that they had even reached her ears during her solitary travels through the provinces. The mortals spoke of a great warrior, trained by the masters, said to be faster and more agile than any man, inhumanly strong with his bare hands and lethal with a weapon—a true hero. A hero who had been blessed by the gods. He would be the one to end Mei Du’s reign of terror.

  Is this him? Has he finally come?

  The rotten door slammed closed again, and dust swirled, glittering in the sunlight. The shape of a man emerged in the gloom, and she was reminded of Hai Xin, his powerful presence blotting out the light.

  Mei Du lifted high on her coil, and the snakes on her head writhed with anticipation.

  She was ready to meet her match.

  Jia Mei Feng sat very still in the deep, curve-backed chair as the royal portraitist used brush and ink to capture her likeness. The artist had thoughtfully adjusted where she would sit in her family’s opulent main hall, pulling the carved chair away from the others. The Jia manor was the most extravagant in their town of Qin He, but despite the family’s high status as rich merchants, it was not every day that they received a visitor from the palace. Her mother had made certain of securing this one opportunity to present Mei Feng’s portrait to the emperor, for a young woman could not climb higher than becoming an imperial consort, one of over a thousand brides the emperor kept at the palace.

  The artist had slid a door panel open, seeking the right amount of light, before he began. She saw him glance at the scrolled paintings adorning their walls—prized originals by masters long dead. Her mother, Lady Jia, flitted behind the man, her silk sleeves billowing with her nervous movements. Mei Feng wished her mother would stand still—she was making her anxious.

  Lady Jia’s pacing was accompanied by a string of dialogue she seemed incapable of stopping. “You must paint so many beautiful women for the emperor, Master Yang,” she said. “It is such an important and honored task, to travel these provinces to find new brides for him. I mean, we rely on your skill to convey our daughter’s beauty. How can a man, even an emperor, not fall in love with such a perfect face?” Her mother swept a graceful arm toward Mei Feng, her dark brown eyes bright with pride.

  Mei Feng winced inwardly. But she had been schooled too long in the art of being a proper young mistress to let it show in her features. Instead, she kept the same faint curve of a smile on her lips, letting her eyes gaze dreamily into an unseen distance.

  “My daughter’s beauty is known throughout the province,” her mother prattled on. “But beyond that, she has been well taught in all the arts that will please our emperor: embroidering, singing, dancing, and playing the zither. Mei Feng can recite and write poetry, has been instructed on how to properly serve tea should the emperor desire it, and knows all the ways of pleasing him in the bedchamber.”

  Mei Feng almost closed her eyes—but she had better control than that. Yet she couldn’t prevent the warm blush that spread from her face to her neck, until the tips of her ears felt on fire. Oh, how she wanted to leap from the chair and run back to her quarters, tear all the pins from her hair, carefully arranged in artful coils and plaits, laden with rubies and jade.

  Horrifyingly, her mother did not stop. She did not even pause for breath.

  “I personally taught her everything from The Book of Making myself.” Lady Jia dipped her chin coquettishly. “Mei Feng knows what she needs to do to quickly become with child—make healthy sons for the emperor.”

  Mei Feng’s hands were folded in her lap, resting against her skirt, gorgeously paneled in pale green and pink silks, embroidered with delicate butterflies. Her fingers tightened, lacquered nails digging into the backs of her hands. How much longer?

  “I am sure she is as fertile as a sow with nine pairs of teats—” Master Yang said.

  Her mother drew a sharp intake of breath, covering her mouth with one sleeve.

  Mei Feng blinked twice; she did not let the shock touch her composed face.

  “But I do not choose the emperor’s imperial consorts for him,” the artist went on in a gruff voice. “What I do is try to paint the best representation that I can of the young women brought before me.” He flicked the ink from his brush with an annoyed turn of his wrist into a cerulean bowl filled with water. It rested on an enameled tea table that depicted pink peonies nestled within verdant leaves, one of Mei Feng’s favorite pieces in their grand main hall. “You are ruining my concentration, Lady Jia,” Master Yang went on. “If I make a mistake and blot the painting by accident, I will not be there to explain to His Majesty that the mark is not a giant wart or mole with a hair growing from it like a cat’s whisker.”

  Lady Jia snapped her fan open, flapping it to give herself some air. She appeared ready to faint.

  Mei Feng’s serene smile might have lifted a small fraction at the corners.

  She loved her mother. She truly did. But Lady Jia could be a little willful and pushy when it came
to arranging a betrothal for her youngest daughter.

  “Well, then,” Lady Jia said. “You’ve made yourself clear, Master Yang. I’ll leave you in peace.” She turned in a flourish of silks and gardenia perfume and retreated down the wide steps into the courtyard below.

  The artist dipped his brush into the inkwell, gathering the ink he needed on the brush head, before giving Mei Feng a playful wink.

  “Shall we start over, then?” he asked.

  Mei Feng wandered the lush grounds of the Jia manor trailed by her two handmaids, Ripple and Orchid, meandering through the estate’s magnificent courtyards. The royal portraitist had taken all morning to paint two likenesses of her. Lady Jia had exclaimed in pleasure when she saw the final pieces, praising the artist. But when the man offered to show Mei Feng, she had declined to see them. Her mother had tilted her chin in disapproval. Mei Feng knew she risked being rude, but she didn’t have the heart. Her fate now rested upon a stranger’s ink strokes on rice paper, and whether or not another stranger found her features pleasing. She wanted to marry well and make her parents proud, but a part of her hoped that the emperor would not like the look of her—for she was not yet ready to leave her family forever.

  Spring was in full splendor, and the gardens were a riot of fragrance and color. She passed peach trees, their branches laden with deep pink blossoms, stopping in front of a clear pond; water trickled from the rock-work built above. The two handmaids chatted behind her as Mei Feng fed the orange and silver-speckled fish. A large toad she had named Grouch because of his wide, frowning mouth plopped loudly into the water, in hopes of finding something he could eat, too.

  She laughed at the sight of him kicking his fat legs and continued on to her favorite spot among all the courtyards—the Pavilion of Quiet Contemplation. Lifting her emerald skirt, she climbed the stone steps and settled onto a bench, one that offered her a view of the crabapple trees. Wisteria wound their way up the columns of the pavilion in bursts of lavender and periwinkle, dousing the air with its sweet, peppery scent.