out in the deep, I've seen something real
the mouth of the void that the waves conceal
Once, twice… and now thrice.
The bottom of the sea is lightless and black, cold and pressurized: bones and blood bound and crackling; but more so notable is the easy of movement and how gracefully she moves through clattered and broken seashells… across fields of bones and carcasses infested crab and worm alike.
Leviathans and truer-to-form krakens slumber and stir, but Yidhra slithers in the murk and dark, through the vast expanse as she looks upward and feels the pulse in the water: the ebb and flow of the tide. With a quick motion she jettisons forward: swims and begins to ascend the reaches: the black fading to blue and green, to clear and warmth where the sun touches the sea.
Her flesh is the same, watery and porous: smooth and painted with spatters of gray and white atop the black and blue, and she still possesses the writhing mass of tentacles of her and hanging along her legs… on her shoulders and face. Stretching and wet they slowly pull across her own skin with barbs and suckers: the sand grasped between them.
She shimmers beneath the surface, breaking it suddenly and stepping out onto land with her head lifting and those awful eyes peering around the shore. Yidhra does not care for the cluster of women, nor for their babble and chatter: she disdains and avoids them- slithers through rock and alcove: stretches her legs as she presses herself into some cave amidst the cliff edges.
The cold rock is welcome, and she touches the walls: teases and tastes the brine. For a moment she considers the water just beside her, a single tendrils reaching down and brushing the surface- feeling the tension and pressure… the remnant of the sun.
“Ivar,” she calls out, mellifluous and sing-song, her gaze lingers on the entrance and the sea. “Come out to play darling.”
