The Silence of the Lake

May, the mermaid of Lily Lake, usually loved the quiet, murky water. Today, the silence felt different. It was heavy, thick with a stillness that made her small green heart pound against her ribs. The white water lilies, typically a comforting sight, seemed to watch her with their pale, unblinking petals.
Just moments ago, a ripple had disturbed the surface, not the usual gentle movement of a fish or a falling leaf, but a deliberate, heavy splash. It was the sound of the ‘Land-Walkers’, the humans her father warned her about. They were loud, disruptive, and most of all, they were curious.
May sank lower into the dark water, only her large, fearful eyes breaking the surface. She was scared. She had heard tales of mermaids being captured, their shimmering tails studied, their songs silenced. She held her breath, the water filling her gills, as a shadow passed over the water above her. A voice, deep and unfamiliar, echoed across the pond.
“Did you see that? I swear something was here.”
May squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could blend entirely into the moss and algae. She had to stay hidden. This was her home, her sanctuary, and she wouldn’t let a Land-Walker take it from her. The silence returned, but the heavy weight in her chest remained. The lake was quiet, but May was terrified.