Note: This final chapter is pretty grotesque, so warning for the squeamish.

The dawning light was crowded. Townspeople jostled for space on the beach, a teeming crowd that stamped upon the sand. Many brought chairs and blankets, lounging and playing cards. Eager children sat on the shoulders of their parents, craning to see over the others for a glimpse of the royals upon their arrival. Merchants shouted at the fringes, their carts laden with food: sweet fruits and freshly baked bread. They weaved between the crowds when they could.
The coronation was a tradition, centuries-old. It was the ocean that had once bestowed divine right to the kings and queens, where people would celebrate under the hot sun as they embraced each new link in the dynasty's chain.

Hereditary-memory, a sense of honor and duty. These things kept the royals coming back each time, to be legitimized, accepted. There was still a sense of importance here, after all these eras. Despite the festivities, there would be no rubbish left behind- the sand would be carefully evacuated, kept pristine.

A hush fell over the crowd as the prince and his lover arrived. They emerged from a severe-looking chariot. The wheels, spokes and chassis were all painted to match the pearly, bulbous temple that languished in the sea beyond. Even the stamping horses had blindingly white coats.
Dressed in light, airy silks, the couple glided down the pathway set before them, a russet-blue carpet that was thrown across the sand. Although their people were quit, silence was impossible. Shrieking gulls dipped and swooped as their approached the water; the unending applause of the surf a numbing backdrop.

The sand that lined their path grew damp and dark. Issac eyed the layers of dry scum and stranded seaweed as they approached. His hand was wrapped tightly around Liinnia's, and she squeezed once, lightly, as they both used their free limb to wave at the crowds.

And then they were there. Issac looked down, ahead. He stopped, petrified, the frothing surf only inches from his bare feet. Lillia turned and waved, smiled as if their interruption was purposeful, a moment of suspense.
And it was, in a way. She leaned into the prince, tugged him forward.
"Let it go, Isaac." She whispered. "Let's make you a king."
His heart was a furious engine, pounding and scraping within him. And yet Linnia was next to him. She had listened, had come here with him.
With a single, stuttering breath. He allowed her to tow him forward, and he stepped into the ocean for the first time in a decade.

Isaac shivered violently as the seawater washed across his feet. The water was freezing- he'd forgotten about the sensation. In a funny twist, however, the temperature-shock overrode the panic for a few moments, enough time for Linnia to bring them further in, up to their ankles.
As he acclimated, Isaac felt the panic return twofold, raw stabs of anxiety that stole his breath, left him gasping. It was only the touch of Linnia that kept him going.
Damn the crowds, she thought, and brought her hand up, fully caressing his back. They shuffled together, made their way through capricious, jostling waves towards the temple. Isaac was hyperaware of each step. The sand was gritty, flowing between his toes, across his skin in little eddies. He could feel the incessant tug of the current, a summons for the deeper blue.
He realized something, as their slow journey became dull and mundane. He was upset, yes, and emotional, but was fine. Some subliminal part of him had expected the worst- that a riptide would pull them in somehow, a low-lying sand shark would strike. These fears had been disconnected from logic, reality. Isaac realized, as the temple grew closer, that there could be a time where he learned to love the water again. The thought was buoyant: it cheered him.

Linnia could feel the subtle shifts in Isaac's body as his confidence grew, her support less dependent-on with each step. Still, it was up to her to guide them. The prince was absorbed with himself, battling against the phobia. Compensating, Linnia steered them both towards the temple. Priests had placed their crowns on alters the night before, in careful anticipation. They would stand before the kingdom as they retrieved the relics and adorned them.

Suddenly, she blinked, confused. She could see the crowns at they glinted in the sun, halfway up the palace steps. But just below, where the water lapped at the structure, lounged a figure. There were only a dozen yards away, and Linnia blanched, unsure. They hadn't been there, just moments ago. She was sure of it.
She raised a hand to call out to the priest, or townsperson, or whoever it was. But then it turned, and her voice caught, retreating back down her throat.

Her face was strangely beautiful. Despite the absence of a nose, her features were sharp and strong, almost patrician. Dark, lank hair curled and tumbled, salt in the follicles catching the light.
It was an alien face, with valleys and planes that left Linnia reeling.
Isaac had noticed, now, squinting. "Who's that woman?" He asked, tentative.
Linnia gaped at him, shocked at his question. But then, with a jarring shock, she understood his confusion. She could see now, clearly splayed across the steps, a pair of human legs that protruded from the Sirena's rattly, soaking dress.

Murmurs rose and curled from behind them: the onlookers had spotted the figure.

"Who is that?" Issac asked again, but now he was shaking. Now he saw her face.

She smiled at him from across the water, a sad, grotesque movement. It was obvious that her fleshy mouth wasn't designed for the human gesture, and her needle-teeth clacked against each other.

"It's her," He breathed. "It's you."

The sight of those teeth, the entire damn Sirena so close to shore was unreal. There was a beat of silence, of universal breath held as Isaac, and Linnia, and the crowds all gazed at the jerking, twitching creature. Slowly, as if in supplication she held out her arms, grasping for the man who had once given her a gift. A low, keening moan could be heard, a jumble of almost-words that failed to make sense on a tongue not meant to speak them.

The screaming began, a sudden black of concussive sound that sent seagulls diving for cover. In a mad, lethal stampede, the townspeople ran, trampling the royal guards who tried to flight the flow, rushing toward their king.

"Stay away!" Isaac wailed, sinking to his knees in the water. His cries mixed with the Sirena in a pathetic harmony as Linnia looked on in horror.
The sound was agitating it, she could see. The Sirena began whipping its, head back and forth as it began to crawl away.

"My God," she breathed, as a sickening, retching realization washed over her. "Look.." She gasped and shook, falling beside her lover. "Oh God, oh hell, look..."

There was no witchcraft afoot. No magic, no miracle that had turned that creature human. It was a terrible pantomime of the real thing as the Sirena dragged itself on. Bouncing along each step were the bloated, decaying legs it had attached to itself. The remounts of some sad, drowned corpse, They were wet and useless, chunks of dead flesh the Sirena had joined with itself. Mercifully, they were too far away to smell the foul, noxious odor that was released in a frenzy of decomposition.

Isaac and Linnia clutched at each other, gazing at the pitiful, repulsive struggle. The Sirena was torn. One moment it would shimmy away from the chaos, flesh slapping. But then it would stop, and turn to look upon Isaac with these large, unsettling eyes.

Linnia noticed, dully, that the dress she wore was little more than a ragged bolt of canvas, torn from a sail. Underneath, she could see a harness, thick ropes of seaweed, that secured the human remains in place.

Suddenly, she came to a decision. Pushing off with her arms, the Sirena launched itself into the shallow water towards the pair. They watched, paralyzed in rigor, as she flopped and shimmied her way towards them, legs flapping akimbo.

Linnia suddenly jerked to life, and she backpedaled in her haste to get away. Isaac did not follow. He sat there, staring at the sight ahead. With his legs folded beneath him, he looked to be in prayer, bowing down to some great entity before him.

She stayed for as long as she could, until the stench of the dead reached her, and she retched, eyes watering. Even then, she tried to pull Isaac along with her, but he was motionless. He could feel a strange sort of solace wash over him. Like a criminal, tired of running, beaten low, he welcomed the inevitable, the chance to let go, give in to those intrusive thoughts.

The wailing of the Sirena sharpened, became clearer as she drew closer.
"For you..." She crooned, the vowels high-pitched and drawn out. Isaac looked into those eyes, and saw nothing but the innocence of a child, eager to please. Eager for love. "For you," she called out.

"For you."