Hymn of the Maelstrom

The Water Imp who sings alone has always kept close this fairytale heard in her youth: Once upon a time, a very, very long time ago, a child was born of the breaking waves. This child was more noble than the daughters of the sea, and fairer than all living things upon the earth. But sweeter than her face was her voice in song; whenever she sang the ancient hymns, Sailing mariners would allow themselves to sink into the whirlpools, and even the frozen seas thawed before her melodies. Then, as tales of this sort so often go, a prince of the land entered the story. The child born of the waves, filled with love and wonder, followed the prince onto the land, Paying no heed to the warnings of her older sisters, who cried, "Our dear sister, the creatures of the land are not to be trusted." Paid she no heed either to the calls of her father: "My child, the ocean floor is the true garden for your song." And so, from that day forth, she sang only for the handsome prince, for his glory and his ambitions, bringing beauty to the royal banquets with her singing so that he might boast of his power and grandeur. In return, the prince bestowed upon her silk, golden robes, and agate, granting her leave to sleep upon cushions of velvet; he cherished her as his most precious jewel, and the splendid palace became the jewel-box. At this point in the tale, the young Water Imp interjected confidently: "And from that day on, they lived happily ever after. That is how all fairytales end." But it was not to be. The storyteller shook their head gently, and replied, "If the tale had ended so, it would not have been passed down by our people for a hundred years." And so the young Water Imp listened on, unprepared for the turn the tale would take... The child born of the waves remained at court, continuing to sing for the prince's glory. But even as the prince applauded her magnificent high notes, he could not comprehend the sorrow in her song. Over time, her skill in song grew ever more refined, yet within her alone grew a foreboding of ill to come. Her voice grew harsher day by day. Then one day, The child born of the waves found herself no longer able to sing the ancient hymns that brought tears to the eyes, or any touching melody for that matter. The prince grieved for her, only because she was like a priceless jewel that had lost its worth, While her sisters of the water rose to shore hand in hand, calling out to her, mourning her silence, "Our dear sister, find your voice once more, for that is your true soul. Find your voice once more, lest you turn into foam and perish." The sisters of the water brought a sacred artifact to their cherished sister. Their kin had sealed the deal in blood, obtaining from the fae of the wind the method to free her: "Our dear sister, your song has been imprisoned by that man's indifference and disdain. Let his heart spill its blood, and this artifact shall return you to our side." The child born of the waves returned to the palace with the artifact. Mindful of her kin's sacrifice, she raised the blade above the sleeping prince, her hands trembling, only to let the strike fade into a sigh. And so, the ancient hymns were lost forever in the twilight of that fairytale. The storyteller shook their head softly, allowing the ending to dissolve into a sigh of its own. "So, what is this story trying to tell us?" the young Water Imp asked, uncertain. "The story tells us that we, the Water Imps, should sing only for those who truly understand our song."