Doth the Sun Envy Thee

“It’s really not that important,” Genevieve told her uncle, but he insisted. Now here she was at the place where he swept the floors and polished the glass, the Gallery of Exotica Regained.

It was a place for a certain kind of art.

“Wander around, Gen. Find your muse,” her uncle advised. “If you stare at the wall all day, you’ll never finish that poem you have due tomorrow.”

Finish? I haven’t even started it.

How was this supposed to help? She didn’t want to write about animals in cages.

Maybe if she closed her eyes, if she didn’t see the walls or bars, she could find inspiration in the sounds. A hoof clacked against a wooden deck, and Genevieve pictured a horse trotting beneath her as they crossed a bridge, a castle town behind them as they set out on an adventure.

Hmmm, what rhymes with adventure?

A bird squawked, and she saw herself in a jungle, waves of heat from an erupting volcano lashing at her cheeks.

“Whoa, hold up!” an unfamiliar voice called. Hands grasped her shoulders, stopping her, and Genevieve’s eyes flew open to a wall of flame that stole her breath.

She leapt back, guided by the grip on her collarbone.

“It’s a bad idea to walk around here with your eyes closed and an even worse idea to get too close to the phoenix cage. He has personal space issues.”

The bird bobbed his head as if agreeing, back turned and wings spread. Could his flames melt the silver bars of his cage?

“Name's Jules, like Jules Verne,” the stranger said, and she finally looked at him.

“Genevieve,” she whispered. He didn’t seem much older than her, a year maybe. Probably already graduated and lucky enough not to have homework anymore.

“I see you’ve got a notebook, Genevieve. Are you a writer?”

Was I staring? Yes, stop that; he’ll think you’re weird.

But those eyes, they’re like the sky just as the sun disappears. And that crooked smile is so cute. I could write my poem about him!

No, no, that would definitely be weird.

Genevieve tucked a loose lock of curly hair behind her ear. “No, I’m not really a writer. I’m just trying to do my homework assignment.” A horrid thought occurred to her, and she gasped. “You’re not really Jules Verne, are you? Like, a creepy recreation of him?”

He laughed. “They haven’t created anything sapient here yet.”

She gulped. “Yet? Are they trying?” Was it right to try to create intelligent life?

Jules shrugged. “They’re striving for perfection in their craft, and I think that will result in a form of sapience eventually. That’s why I’m here.”

Oh that grin is going to melt me faster than the phoenix’s wings ever could. She fixed her face, trying to look attentive but not too attentive.

“You come here a lot?”

“You could say that.”

“Often enough to be a good guide? I’m supposed to find something that can be my muse.” She looked up at him through her lashes, nervous he would say yes, afraid he would say no.

Instead, a neigh answered her.

“No, Tempesta, I didn’t forget you,” Jules called, fishing a baggie of the feed sold at the front entrance from his pocket. The smell of seaweed filled the air as he opened it and offered the treat to a small, slender horse standing at the edge of her pin.

She wasn’t just a horse, Genevieve realized upon a second glance. She had wings with soft white feathers. These covered most of her body, flowing into a deep gray with blanched spots like snowflakes.

Tempesta stomped her foot as she downed the last pellet in the bag.

“Hey, you know I’d love to give you more, but your nutritionist would have my hide,” Jules chuckled, patting her forehead.

Genevieve stepped up next to him. “Um, is she a pegasus? Can she really fly?”

“Yes, and who knows? She’s still just a filly.” With one last pat, he crumpled the baggie and returned it to his pocket. “She’s the first one they’ve had that lived beyond six months.”

Genevieve frowned. It was sad, and she didn’t want to think too hard about it.

She followed Jules, not really listening to him, just reveling in the sound of his voice as he pointed out this or that.

I really should just write my poem about him.

Should I ask his permission first?

Her gut twisted.

What’s the worst that could happen, really? He’ll say no? He’ll call me a freak and walk away? He’ll make a post about me on social media, but no one I know will ever see it…probably.

She bit her lip and looked up at his back, but over his shoulder gold caught her eye and refused to let go.

It was a fish. No, not exactly. The creature beyond the glass wall and dancing with a horde of bubbles had the figure of a woman, legs fused together, golden scales climbing from what would have been her toes to above her breast, like an off the shoulder gown. She swam in sweeping figure eights, tail fin long and flowing like a beta’s. Two similar fins extended from her back like wings, a transparent, fiery shimmer.

A line immediately jumped into Genevieve’s head: Doth the sun envy thou?

She plopped down on a bench and wrote it. Jules peered over her shoulder, eyebrows raised, and she pulled the notebook to her chest, warmth coloring her cheeks.

“W-what is she?” Genevieve’s face darkened further. She meant to get Jules’ attention off her notebook, but the question was stupid. Obviously this was a mermaid.

But Jules didn’t look down at her in pity or amusement. He didn’t scoff or tell her she was dumb, and Genevieve sat a little straighter as he sat next to her, both their gazes on the creature in the tank.

“She is the Koi Maiden,” he explained, “and she is the Lead Artist’s masterpiece. The Lead Artist has painted some of humanity’s wildest and most gorgeous imaginings, but this is the one she’s most proud of.”

“Painted?”

“Her chosen medium is genetics, but they prefer to use art terms here so people forget these pieces are living animals. They don’t just look alive. They are alive, but as long as you don’t think too hard about that, it’s okay. It’s just art.”

Art. Living poetry. Was it fair that one living being could hold such beauty? Genevieve reached for words to describe the sight: scales imbued with drops of sunlight, eyes wide, molten stars burning somewhere between gold and red.

The Koi Maiden smiled as bubbles tickled her, lips puffy. Genevieve’s own reflection stared back at her in the glass, faint and chiding. She tried to pucker her own lips to match the gorgeous creature’s, but she looked silly. She was nowhere near as beautiful: thin lips and dark, freckled skin, eyes that people assumed were closed most of the time. What if she got colored contacts, if people could see her irises burning like that? They would know she was awake, looking at them. Would they see her then?

Her notebook fell from her chest, her pen going to the paper.

“Why the Old English?”

Jules. He was still here.

Genevieve turned to him languidly, trying to pretend her heart hadn’t just transformed into a forge. “Doesn’t it sound more poetic? I’m supposed to write a poem.”

“Any kind of poem?”

“Yeah, but I’m not very good at it.”

He leaned closer, raising a brow at her one, pitiful line.

I’d even take beauty like his. It’d be better than what I’ve got now.

“Maybe you’re trying too hard to force a voice that isn’t yours.”

She grimaced. “What do you mean?”

“Do you normally go around using thee and thou?”

She scrunched her face and stared. What did he take her for?

Jules put up his hands. “Some dialects still do, and the words aren’t quite as they were with their original usage. You’re free to write however you want. A poem is supposed to be your soul poured onto the page.”

How very poetic. Maybe she could steal that line? Should she write a poem about poetry?

He pointed to the last word she had written. “Thou was the subject of a sentence, and thee was the object. Like when you say I did this, but this was done to me. Thou did this, but this was done to thee.”

“What are you, some kind of English teacher?”

“I’m a linguist. When one of these creations begins to ‘talk,’ I’m going to be the first to communicate with it.”

“That’s…a very interesting goal.”

Genevieve turned back to the tank. The mermaid stared at her, inferno eyes like fingers brushing along Genevieve’s arms, beckoning her closer.

“Can she see us?”

“As easily as we can see her.”

“It’s like she wants us to come closer.”

Jules stood. “Then let’s do it.”

But Genevieve didn’t move. Her stomach churned, and no commands reached her legs. Jules took one step, and the Koi Maiden dashed off, ducking behind a rainbow-colored rock on the other side of the tank.

“Too bad,” Jules sighed. “Well, I’ll leave you to your muse. If you come up with something good, you’ll show it to me, right?”

At Genevieve’s subtle nod, he walked into the tunnel leading to the next room, his echoing footsteps a beat to which she situated her pencil on the paper and wrote slowly, scrabbling for words to describe her thoughts, trudging them from the far, muddy corners of her brain.

Doth the sun envy thee

How thou stole its splendor

Who painted its light within thy scales

And sealed its glow beneath skin so tender

She read back over the words again and again, trying to figure out what should come next. Her neck twinged, and she looked up, rubbing her nape.

The Koi Maiden was there, scorching eyes branding her again. Genevieve rose, notebook held loose in a limp arm at her side, the other lifting to touch the glass.

“How I wish I could be you,” the human girl whispered.

The Koi Maiden tilted her head, webbed hand rising, its differences made all the more plain—clawed thumb, ring finger longest—as she placed it against Genevieve’s.

~I envy you.~

Genevieve stumbled back. The sentiment hadn’t been spoken. It wasn’t a sound or a thought, but something Genevieve felt shake in her bones. She squinted at the maiden, those puffy lips in a pout, round eyes slightly downturned. As if their hands were linked by invisible strings, Genevieve was reeled back to the glass.

~I envy you.~

“Why would you envy me? You’re so beautiful.”

The Koi Maiden tilted her head again, filament hair flowing with the movement. ~I am how they designed me to be. You are beautiful by the grace of chance.~

Genevieve blushed. “If I could look like you, though, I would.”

~You would stay here forever?~ Her tail flicked, somehow reminding Genevieve of a cat.

“What do you mean?”

~Those like you leave and return, which means there is a bigger world for you to wander.~

Genevieve’s eyes roamed the tank. It was large, integrated into several gallery rooms, an artwork on its own with corals and rocks that might as well be jewels. Alcoves waited to be explored, bubbles invited one to dance, and everything had a sparkly, gilded sheen. But would she want to live here? Forever?

This was nothing compared to the real world and its wonders. Mt. Fuji, Victoria Falls, the Grand Canyon. This fish girl would never see them.

Her flush deepened as she realized this creature also got zero privacy.

~Would you really switch places with me?~

Genevieve ripped away, breaths heavy. Yes, she wanted to be that gorgeous, but to give up her freedom, her humanity?

She saw the strings tying them together, towing her back to the glass, the temptation. She desired that beauty, but did she really want what all would come with it?

She tried to tear away again, but the strings gave her no leeway. She was trapped, eyes widened, staring into a fire burning under the water.

The notebook dropped with a loud, jarring sound, and the dark, freckled girl blinked, gaze falling to it. She didn’t look at the Koi Maiden again. Scooping up her notebook, she ran.

The next morning, the poem she turned in read:

Doth the sun envy thee

How thou stole its splendor

Who painted its light within thy scales

And sealed its glow beneath skin so tender

They know not to look into thy molten eyes

Ringing with a smith’s blow

For that is how thou draw them in

And never let them go