Purple Scales

Prologue

Saint Nicolas's orphanage was silent as a tomb that night. Sister Philomena walked briskly through the empty halls, focused on her path. Tonight, she was in charge of staying by the door for any lost souls or children in need of a home. Admittedly, it was very rare, but saving even one person, or one child, or one baby made it worth doing.

She nudged the woman currently sitting by the door, whose head had drooped onto her chest. "Sister Gianna."

The older nun slept on. Philomena did not honestly think she was a good choice to have waiting by the door, considering she was near deaf and tended to fall asleep if left unattended for longer than a minute, but she was virtuous and kind, so Philomena gave her a smile when she shifted to wake up. "Oh, sister Philomena. Is it your turn already?"

"Yep," she helped the old woman to her feet. "You fell asleep."

The elderly woman turned to her, eyes wide in surprise. "I did?! Goodness, I don't think I've done that before."

"Of course," Philomena nodded and handed the woman her cane. "You best go to bed now. Good night!" she called as the old woman went hobbling off, before settling in what was now her chair for the night, watching out the window, at the path that led up to the door.

She wouldn't forget that night as long as she lived, starting from the moment the wailing started.

It'd only been a few minutes of waiting before the cries started (restarted? She hadn't seen anyone come even close to the orphanage on her watch, and Sister Gianna likely hadn't heard a thing). The cries of a baby, cries she knew all too well from the infants at the orphanage. She stumbled over her habit in her rush to get to the door, and there it was, a wailing baby, probably barely more than a year old, face red and grimy.
"Good lord," she picked up the child out of the bassinet. The baby opened their eyes for a moment to look up at the nun.

Now, sister Philomena had heard stories from other nuns, of how the babies left on doorsteps had looked at them with such wonder in their eyes as they'd been picked up. And then, the sisters had sworn, they'd smiled like angels, being calm and peaceful as they'd been brought inside. They said it was the most beautiful gift they could ever receive for their work, a blessing from heaven.

Philomena couldn't confirm those claims, because the moment the baby looked at her, they started wailing again.

She sighed in exasperation. "You need a bath, don't you." She ran a thumb over the dirty cheek-- there weren't tear tracks marked through the grime, she noted curiously. They seemed well-fed, if not small for their age, and hungry. So, just as quickly as she'd come, she walked back through the no-longer-silent halls, the baby in her arms.

They made it to the small children's washroom without incident. She laid the baby on the changing table and unwound the blankets they were wrapped in. A necklace had been tucked in between the folds of the faded purple blanket-- a gray, unassuming rock with a hole pierced through it, that dangled on a silver chain. She put it to the side for the moment, filling up the plastic baby tub as the baby waited, cries having turned into indignant sniffles as he (they were a boy, she had noticed as she'd taken his soiled diaper off) watched her curiously.

When the tub filled, she picked up the boy and smiled at the way he burbled at the sound of the water running. "Aren't you a cute little mouse?" she cooed at him.

The next moment she wouldn't forget. When she placed him in the water-- he'd barely touched it at all, she'd swear to herself once she'd calmed down. Just a splash. Just a drop.

She'd watched as the baby's legs had fused together into a purple tail-- a fishtail.

"A mermaid," she whispered, clutching at her chest and stepping backwards.