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When Ariel took the throne and began her introduction to the world outside her kingdom, she appeared human to those who met her. At least, at first.
It took time to slowly accept the truth.
At a glance, she was just like any other woman, if not a startlingly beautiful one. Often times dignitaries and other foreign ambassadors would peer in the Queen’s direction, curious due to the wild stories of her heritage. By report, she was royalty even before marriage, an equal match to King Eric by birth.
Most sailors and shore-folk knew of Atlantica, of the sea-king and his daughters. However, the farther the tale traveled inland, the less believed it was. Most far-fetched was the report that Eric’s young wife was one of these ocean princesses. That, while she walked on two legs, she was at heart a mermaid.
However, the Queen had no webbing between her delicate fingers. Her chest rose and fell with the same natural cadence of any other woman. No gills curved along the side of her pale neck to help her breathe. To the curious onlooker, her complexion was unremarkable, flushed healthily around her cheeks with frequent laughter. She had no scales to speak of.
Her skin was soft and unblemished. At times when she turned into the light, there were fleeting moments where the light would hit her differently. The raised bits of her collarbone, the tip of her nose, the sliver of her shoulder, sparkling with a green-gold glimmer. Just as soon as visiting nobility thought they had noticed it, it was gone.
The Queen’s mannerisms were overly familiar. She laughed loudly and often. The way she would clasp the hands of dignitaries and servants alike was strange. She would lean in, eager, to conversations or presentations. One would think her cheeks must hurt from how constant and genuine her smile seemed.
There were moments too, of apparent distraction. When, in the middle of attending an important meeting, her demeanor would break, and she would dart her eyes to peer fascinated at one small detail or another. The delicate molding on the ceiling, the shine of a candleholder. The phases of her attention seemed to flit across her gaze like the glitter of the sun off the waves.
However, when in conversation one-on-one with someone, the Queen gave her full attention. One found it almost disconcerting the steadiness of her intent. Never breaking eye contact, her gaze was a deep, shifting blue. Her expression was almost always a kind one in these exchanges, her cheeks raised, crinkling her eyes just slightly in a reassuring way that did little to distract from the swirling way the lights of the room seemed to dance in their reflections. Walking away from a conversation with her, one would swear she had not blinked the entire time.
She moved strangely. At times she appeared almost clumsy, her stride vaguely lopsided, a shift in her stance making it seem for a second as though she were about to fall. She never did. Even with the confusion of her movements, she managed at all times to somehow come across as captivatingly graceful. Her actions held a sort of dizzying curvature. She didn’t turn her head or move her arm in a straight line. Instead, she always moved with the slightest of awkward curving, bending, and swimming. She was a mesmerizing dancer.
The Queen was a kind soul. She treated the servants no different than the visiting kings, and her generosity and sweet disposition were well known by all her subjects. There were rare moments, however, when she was overcome by anger. An ambassador would shout at a servant, or treat her dismissively. As famed was her kindness, so too was her rage. It was at times like this that many came to believe the stories of her heritage. How could one not agree she was of the waves when the cast of her expression resembled the storms that cracked the hulls of ships? When her gaze took on the color of water so cold it felt as if it should be freezing into ice? She never raised her hand, but she would raise her voice. She was never shrill, her tone never piercing or unpleasant, but it was frigid, filled with the authority of the sea.
It was this, her voice, that finally convinced all who spent any long time in her presence that the Queen was more than human. No human could speak in such a way, where every syllable seemed to twist with music. Her very laughs seemed to come out in a strangely melodic way, the notes of her mirth curling through the air to pop in others’ ears like bubbles. And when she sang! The voice of the Queen was perhaps her most famous attribute. When she would grace the world with songs, be it in a royal court or a peasant square, all couldn’t help but listen. The melodies rang through the air on an undercurrent of whistling ships’ bells, hopping and darting through the air like shimmering schools of fish. Her soaring crescendos never sounded as if they took any effort, and they rose and fell to a rhythm as steady and constant as the tide. One would swear that when Queen Ariel sang, the sea sang along.