N y x a
Stuck.
This has never been a problem for her. Nyxa has never felt this emotion because, until now, it’s never even been a concept on the shores of her subconscious. The little water filly has always been free to roam where she liked and occasionally, she did so because she simply could. Nothing had ever kept her away though - Hod’s gentle reassurance and constant presence in her life was always the golden thread that kept her clinging to this place.
Hod. This place. Neither of them are the same now.
Nyxa ambles rather unexpectedly along the shoreline. For being the Ocean’s captive, she still can’t manage to keep away from the blasted thing. It calls to her in her dreams, in her soul; now more than ever. The brisk arrival of winter has seen to her coat, thickening out the tawny hairs even though Ischia remains content in her unceasing warm weather. Come summer, Nyxa will be changed: a different color, a different shape, just different. For the first time, this change is fearsome to her.
Her first transition (the one that had given her tough sharkskin and the ability to live in a new world) had brought Maugrim. What would come of her now, if this were to continue as it already seemed to be doing? “They didn’t even think to take me with them.” She comments bitterly, absently. Frustrated as she is, the Ischian girl finds little comfort in anything besides trying to blame someone for her misguidance. If only Circinae had brought her along! This could all have been avoided, every last bit.
But she hadn’t been fit to accompany the wolf mother. Only good enough to remain. “Fuck this place,” she mumbles under her breath and then, “FUCK. THIS. PLAAAACE!” she screams in anguish, letting the sound roll unheard over the tops of the churning whitecaps.
She can’t even gather enough energy to cry, after such an outburst. Instead she turns wistfully away from the sugar-sand beaches, treads instead to the sloping forefront of this place where visitors seem to find their sleepy Island, and it’s there that she stops - hopeful eyes cast silently over the flats. Low tide would be upon them soon; perhaps an answer to her troubles could be found from unknown sources, rather than agonizing with herself internally?
It’s a simple hope, but it’s all she has.
Every kiss is a door, Can I knock on yours?
@[Voltage] Some adolescent teenage angst for ya, as promised lmao