we are slaves to the sirens of the salty sea
A year has passed since she has seen him.
A year in which she was not confined to an island, even if by her own design. A year where she did not bear children. A year where she was able to follow the path of different rivers and lakes and the vast ocean. Where she was able to spend time in her own company—where she could see the great whales and the small otters and the tiny fish as they flitted to and fro in their own schools.
A year in which she always remembered him, the curious feeling of being in his presence.
The way he was both his own person and something she was convinced she dreamt up.
Today though, she steps away from the water. It is always disconcerting to do, but she finds that she likes the alien feeling of dry land. The way her vision seems to change and gravity shifts, the way that her lungs seem to inflate differently, her mouth dry and scales bristling with discomfort. She can never do it for long, but that does not change the strange pleasant feeling she gets when she does it all.
As she walks, she notes the way that the shadows seem to swirl and take shape. The way that they become something different altogether, and when she sees his eyes staring out from them, her breath hitches. Her silvery eyes study him intently and she realizes that she still doesn’t even have a name for him. Not that she has a name for many things, but it feels wrong that she does not have something to call out.
Instead she gives that same strange smile, learned and not necessarily innate, as she walks closer.
“Hello,” a breathy word and then nothing as the wind comes to stir her hair.
