One day, I realized... I'm actually pretty environmentally conscious.
Not because I'm some save-the-planet, love-all-creatures saint—no.
It's because humans can't stop throwing crap into the ocean.
You land people are obsessed with shiny things.
Gold, silver, copper, iron... weird, ugly, sparkly, dull, whole, broken, peeling—doesn't matter. If you don't want it anymore, you just toss it into my living room.
So naturally, I started thinking: isn't this basically destiny delivering treasure to me?
Not that I've ever lacked for material goods.
I grew up with three hundred crystal screens, eighteen current-fed wardrobe chambers, pearl lamps glowing day and night, dolphins drawing my bath, octopus masseurs on call...
But even a spoiled little sea princess likes a bit of novelty.
It's not that I want everything—it's that I've already seen everything.
Except for the bizarre junk you people throw away. That stuff? Kind of fascinating.
My favorite pastime these days? Cruising over to the human garbage bay for a little window-shopping.
Toothbrushes. Mirrors. Forks. Lipsticks. Doll heads. Wigs. Rubber shoes.
And my latest find—a bottle from something called "Sriracha."
Charming name. Nice red color.
But my favorite? The fork.
For weeks I thought it was a hair comb.
Then I discovered it works beautifully for spearing seaweed.
Greedy? Me?
Please. This is called resourceful household management.
We rich princesses of the deep?
We rule by our taste, by our ability to curate treasure—not by hoarding it all blindly.
You toss it into the sea, I bring it home.
What's that called?
Humans do a clearance sale, and I—your princess—open for business.
I even name my treasures, put them on display stands, make little category cards, and hire two fish to polish and maintain them.
That's called quality of life.
It's an attitude. Aesthetic. And yes—environmental activism.
In short: you throw it away, I collect it.
You reject it, I treasure it.
The thing you think is trash?
Might just be my next limited-edition accessory for a royal undersea gala.
Because this princess? She's not just a diva.
She's a luxury-brand trash manager.
Okay. Okay. Okay.
Back to the story of how I met him.
It was a day... something like that.
Listen—
I was just trying to take a nap.
Like always, your princess was sleeping like royalty.
That perfect time of day when the sun's heating the surface enough to make lazy little bubbles, and even the whales are yawning after their naps.
I crack my eyes open, slow and elegant.
Didn't even get the chance to complain about the blinding sunlight when—BAM—
The ocean went full horror soundtrack.
I look up, and holy seafoam—
The wind's howling like the storm god just got hit with a debt collector,
and the waves?
Thrashing harder than the bass drop at the undersea rock concert I went to last night.
And me?
Fresh-from-sleep bubble hair, tail still un-oiled with my signature sea-essence—
WHAM!—a wave slaps me onto a reef.
Hair everywhere. Bangs splitting into eight tragic little strands, drifting around like seaweed decorations.
I'm about to lose it when my brain goes,
"Oh right. The forecast this morning said something about a tsunami."
Do I care? No.
Your princess's first concern:
Did a human boat just capsize?!
I glance up and—yep.
A few pathetic little ships bobbing sideways, spinning like drunk seahorses,
packed with land-dwellers in ridiculous outfits, screaming their lungs out:
"AAAAAAAHHHH!"
"Somebody save me!!"
"Why is the boat spinning?!"
"Tell your wife to let go of me!!"
I almost blew bubbles laughing.
These people—
Strutting around on land, dumping scrap metal and junk into my ocean like they own it—
and now?
One tsunami and they're all flopping around like overturned sea snails, rolling across the deck like headless chickens, still shoving each other for good measure.
Of course I followed them.
Not to save anyone—please.
I was there for the show.
I swam alongside the biggest ship, watching as the stern flew up, the bow buried itself underwater,
and then—oh yes—
a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree, wave-powered, Thomas-the-Tsunami spin.
It was art.
I almost shouted, "Encore!"
You know that joy?
When you're floating there, tail fin fanning lazily,
watching land-dwellers get tossed around like unbreaded fried fish,
and they still don't understand why they're miserable—
flipping, crying, yelling at the weather the whole time?
Gods, how can you not love the ocean?
Only the ocean can teach these land people—
who look down on it—to respect me,
the native royalty of these waters.
Of course, I didn't actually let them die.
I was just there for the laugh.
A mermaid still has to keep some sense of undersea morals.
(Although, if my laughter happened to cause an undertow... well, that's not my fault.)
So no, the tsunami didn't scare me that day—
it made me fall in love with a new hobby:
ship-watching, like live theater.
And, just as I predicted—
the ship went under.
One by one, humans went plop-plop-plop into the sea,
a chaotic mess worthy of an Olympic synchronized diving event.
I was enjoying the view from under the waves,
sipping a little kelp smoothie,
thinking, Wow, land people are hopeless—one ripple and they're floating corpses.
Still, your princess has some conscience.
I turned to a few of the more muscular octopuses in my crew and ordered,
"Go on. Pick one each—if you can lift them—give them a quick breath on the surface."
What? You want to know how I decided who to rescue?
I looked for the ones who weren't too fat... and worth the effort. Mm-hmm.
Once the useless land trash was handled,
I was about to head back for my nap when suddenly—
a flash lit up from the ocean floor.
It was so bright it made my tail twitch.
Instinct kicked in. I shot forward like a spear—
because your princess? She's born with a love for shiny things.
Greedy? No.
That's called aesthetic instinct, artistic pursuit,
and the highly refined mineral sensitivity of an ocean elite.
I went to grab the shiny thing, planning to drag it home for my collection—
and then it started swimming upward.
I chased, it fled.
I chased again, it fled again.
I thought, Wow. This piece comes with a built-in escape mechanism. Impressive.
I swam fast. It swam fast.
But really—outrun me? The princess of these waters? Not happening.
I caught up, and—oh.
Ohhh.
Not some "shiny device" at all—
it was a human.
And not just any human—
one dripping with enough jewelry to be the Sea God's official brand ambassador.
Buttons made of crushed diamonds.
Gold trim along the edges of his clothes.
A belt set with a sapphire so big it looked like it had its own gravitational pull.
And on his head? A round, flashing thing I honestly mistook for a navigation beacon.
The only thought in my head was:
How many thousands of pearls does it take to make a man shine this hard?
Also—not to be dramatic—but all those gems are going to be ruined in saltwater!
So, as the responsible and justice-driven Undersea Security Officer slash Environmental Inspector, I immediately began dismantling.
"Hmm, this pearl is reflecting light straight into my royal eyes—dangerous. Remove."
"This diamond's way too big. I'll take it home, polish it, and see how it looks on my neck. Remove."
"This necklace matches my hair color today. You're unconscious, so no one's admiring it—better let me hold onto it. Remove."
"This setting is crooked. Embarrassing. Remove."
"This ring's too loose—could fall off and choke a small fish. Remove."
"This gemstone's edges are too sharp. A fish could cut itself. Remove."
I dismantled as I commented, spouting things like "for safety," "for the environment," and "for aesthetic purposes," while my hands moved faster than a crab peeling a clam.
In no time, the loot was tucked neatly into my "temporary custody pouch"—
what you humans might call a handbag, but we merfolk call a fish-skin treasure satchel.
Honestly, if he hadn't still been wearing clothes,
I might have kept going.
Because my professional policy has always been:
see a dangerous object, confiscate it on the spot—no mercy.
And there I was, mid–dismantle, when I suddenly noticed—
Huh.
This guy was actually... pretty handsome.
I've been in the ocean my whole life and I've never seen a two-legged creature look this good.
Even with his eyes closed, fake-drowning, and holding his breath like a stubborn clam, his features were annoyingly symmetrical.
His lashes fanned out like the fins of a ribbon eel, his nose was sharp and straight—honestly easier on the eyes than half the dolphins I know.
Just as I was about to unbuckle his belt—
I froze.
Uh-oh.
This guy... might actually be dying.
It hit me that my entire "jewelry inspection plus temporary safekeeping procedure" had taken so long that he'd turned a lovely shade of blue.
Great.
If he died now, wouldn't that make me some kind of undersea looter caught in the act?
No way. Your princess has standards.
I flipped my tail, scooped him up bridal-style (yes, I've got that kind of arm strength), and shot toward the surface, shouting:
"Don't you dare die on me!
If you die, I'm going to be very inconvenienced!"
"I wasn't stealing your stuff! It was a safety check! I'll give it back, I swear!"
The sunlight on the surface hit me right in the eyes as I dumped him onto a piece of driftwood and flipped onto my back.
Whew. Saved.
I leaned in and blew a breath across his face (fine, we'll call it CPR), thinking,
If you die right now, that sapphire belt buckle is officially unclaimed property.
I patted his face. One, two, three... still no movement.
Fine.
Your princess doesn't just do CPR.
I bit him.
(Not a kiss. A bite. Hard enough to make a nearby clownfish do a double backflip.)
Then I smacked him—WHACK!—so loud I'm pretty sure the echo reached the next bay over.
Finally, he coughed—no, exploded—half a liter of seawater and blinked up at me, totally dazed.
I saw the "who-are-you-what-just-happened" forming on his lips and waved it off:
"No need to ask, buddy. Name's 'Hero.'"
"The kind with a tail. Just saved your life."
My eyes drifted to that nearly-blinding diamond clasp on his chest and I smiled sweetly.
"As for your little diamonds and gold? I'll help myself to a few... consider them a thank-you gift."
And before he could respond, I slapped my tail, spraying him with a curtain of seawater, and turned away.
"Alright then—it's settled. Bye-bye!"
I swam off with all the grace and finality of someone who knew she'd won,
leaving him perched on the driftwood, staring after me.
In the sea breeze, he was probably wondering:
Was that... a goddess? Or a pirate?
Meanwhile, riding the waves, I had only one thought:
Good haul today. Better clear some space in the treasure cabinet for my new prizes.