Isleen, now, tugs your arms behind your back. The rope she ties them with is soft, if that is of any comfort. Your heart rages but the fear is gone. You don’t look up as she walks you through your childhood home. The room is yours. The hallway is one you had spent your years’ racing through. But none of it has been yours since that day. Since a pearl necklace was laid around your throat like a noose, a ceremonial dagger heavy at your hip, and a notice that the next rolling, demanding storm would be yours to claim.

But, there hadn’t been a storm that year. Not a true one that rattled the doors and windows within their frames. Not one that held the wrath of the sea within its swirling clouds and deafening thunder. Nor the year after that. There had been one, on your 20th year, but Koen had convinced the village elders to stay their hand.

Offering her too early will only cause the Sea God to get bored of her, he had said, his hands trembling behind his back as he stood between you and them, and then where we will be? Are you prepared to offer up your daughters so soon?

So, they had waited and let the Sea God fester in his desire. Elio’s fishing boat had been destroyed less than a month later by a rogue wave. Of a crew of 13, only 4 came back.

There was a rainfall a few weeks prior and that is when you had frozen in terror. Perched at your bedroom window, the one facing the sea, you prayed with all of your might to keep the sky from darkening. For the Sea God to stay his hand just a little longer. Your mother had paced outside your door for hours, waiting for the clap of thunder to seal your fate. It never came.

Until now. Now, your body has no fear left. You wonder, as Isleen marches you through your house, if you had used it all.

You’re given 15 minutes with your parents to say goodbye. The elders are antsy this time. Storms are the only time where the boundary between the mortal realm and the Sea God’s grows thin; permeable. They are sent by the Sea God himself; the will of the ocean, the chaos of the waves, and the demands of the wind are a language that your village has long since learned to be fluent in. The village elders had not even wanted to grant this much time for you. But they had relented once your mother had sobbed and wailed and pressed the blade of her sword to several of their necks.

Now, however, your mother is quiet. The tears are gone. She had won herself more time with you before the end and it wasn’t enough. She is, after all, the one who taught you how to know when you’ve been beaten. She swallows, thickly and draws you into her arms.

“My heart,” she whispers into your hair.

A sob crawls up your throat as you cannot even hug her back. Your body shudders and she holds you tighter, keeping you steady.

“You must come back to me,” she says. Her cheek is pressed against the crown of your head. It is almost enough to drown out the screaming wind outside. “Do you understand? Do whatever you have to.” Her voice lowers as Isleen shifts on her feet; trying to give you both as much privacy as she can while being in the same room. “You were mine first, not his.”

You’re wetting her blouse with tears and snot and spit. Your wrists ache from how hard you’re tugging on the ropes. You want to hug her back. Isn’t that allowed? Where would you go? They can untie you just for this, can’t they? As soon as the thought crosses your mind, you know exactly why they don’t. You are, at the end of it all, your mother’s daughter. You were hers first. She may know when to accept defeat but she raised you with a defiance she never got to have. Even now, the ceremonial dagger sits heavy at your hip; your body already poised for a single slip up to advantage of.

Her embrace shatters and remakes you all at once. You will not die here.

You are not the Sea God’s to claim.

Your father places a hand at your mother’s shoulder and, when she steps away, the roar of the outside world comes screeching back. Lightning flashes through the window and you wince at the brightness of it and, even now, despite everything, lean towards the thunder that follows.

There are tears rolling down your father’s weathered cheeks. “You used to love weather like this.”

He is not as good with words as your mother is. You nod, wiping your cheek on your shoulder as best as you can before he steps forward to do it for you. “I did.”

It’s a partial lie. Despite it all, you love when it storms. The crackle of potential on the horizon. The thunder had been a more effective lullaby than your mother’s humming. Your father had found you, time and time again, outside in the middle of the night just because it had started raining and you couldn’t bear to miss it.

“We couldn’t tear you away from those cliffs,” he says, eyes shining, “Always worried me to death that you’d fall right off.” He wipes your tears again. “I’ll be there, you know, every time it rains.”

You smile, knowing what he actually means to say; what he can’t while Isleen does her best not to listen in. He will be there, at those cliffs, whenever you make your way back. No matter what happens here; you can never return. Not to this village. Not where they would see you. There is no world where you’re able to come back to your childhood home. But your mother and father will be there, on those cliffs, waiting for a sign that you made it out. It is a lifeline thrown for the both of you.

You nod, leaning your cheek into his hand. “I’ll be with you there. Always.”

To Isleen, it is nothing more than a mournful goodbye with someone who is already a ghost. But your parents understand. When they step away, the tears are gone. Your mother wraps a hand around your father’s bicep and smiles at you; well and fully. There is not an ounce of doubt in her eyes. Your hands twist in the bindings, testing how strong they were really tied.

“She’s ready,” your mother says.

Isleen, it seems, still has a soft spot for you. The knot is tight, but not complex. You must be careful with fidgeting with it too early. Your hands go limp as she resumes her spot behind you; her hand warm but trembling against your back as she guides you out the door.

The rain slants sideways in the chaotic wind; first towards the sea and then the mountains. Isleen’s hair tugs free from its braid and she curses as it whips across her cheeks. You had cut your hair short years ago, long before your 18th birthday and you smile; pettily vindicated as your sight remains unmarred. While Isleen takes a moment to strangle her hair back into submission, you fiddle at the ropes. Another loosening. Another swallowed wince as the rope scrapes against your skin, no matter how soft they tried to work it.

Still, the rain is endless. Water gathers on your lashes, your cheeks. It pours down your temples and, within seconds, your dress is plastered to your skin. In your mind’s eye, you look tragically beautiful; a striking heroine standing tall with the dress hugging all the right places. In reality, you’re aware that you look quite like a drowned rat. You were wearing baggy linen pants beneath your dress before the storm had worsened. A part of you had planned to sneak out to watch the sea in the rain and enjoy another stolen moment of freedom. You should have run then.

You wonder, now as Isleen guides you towards the docks, why you didn’t. It would’ve been easy. Koen had nearly begged you to through the years. But, for whatever reason, something had stayed your hand. Like a tether between the hollow of your heart and the open sea.

Your neighbors gather along the cobblestone streets, staring mournfully at you from under umbrellas or shop awnings. The florist who had tucked a daisy behind your ear when you were 6. The doctor who had patched up countless scrapes as you ran after Koen. They had all watched you grow up. They watch you pass. None of them step forward.

And then there’s little Orla, peeking her head out from behind her uncle’s leg. There is a moment where she glances around fervently. You had babysat her when her father was out late and knew that expression well. She must’ve snuck out. Even now, with your hands bound and the storm screaming for your soul, you give her an exasperated smile.

She is still too little to fully understand what is happening. Her father has likely told her what you were told at her age; that you were going to marry the Sea God. She grins at you; wide and toothy, and darts through the crowd. Her uncle yelps. Isleen stills at your back and you can feel her hand snap to the sword at her waist. You glare at her over your shoulder. What is a child going to do?

Orla tugs on your drenched dress. “My pa says every bride needs this!” She holds out her enclosed fist and reveals it with a flourish. A tiny wind chime clangs sweetly as it dangles between her fingers, the two tiny metal bars hardly heard over the wind. “It’ll scare away the bad spirits!”

You look at her, uncertain how to tell her that your hands are bound. That the ‘bad spirits’ are the ones you’re headed straight for. You know this legend. There is a windchime hung above your window. Above your front door. Koen had kept one tied to his bag during lessons. You aren’t sure how to tell her that you’re the village’s windchime; your sacrifice is the desperate attempt to keep ‘bad spirits’ at bay.

Instead, you summon a smile. “Thank you, darling. Could you tie it for me?” You angle your hip towards her. “You’re so much better at that than me.”

She giggles. Behind her, you catch her uncle’s gaze. He is the first one to actually meet your eyes. He frowns, looking between you and her. Then, seemingly to swallow back something, he straightens. The nod he gives you says just one thing; thank you. 

Maybe this is why you didn’t run away. If you had, maybe Orla would’ve been next. It’d be a much nicer thought if you weren’t actively planning on running now. 

No, you know why you didn’t run and it’s as simple as it always is: You were too afraid to. But, for now, you’ll pretend it was for a noble cause. Because truly, as Orla deftly secures the little windchime to your hip, you would fight like hell to keep her from taking your place. It is an odd thing; to have both be true at the same time. To know that you will run as soon as given the chance, this village be damned, and to also smile back at Orla’s wide, naive grin and know that you would do anything to keep it there.

“It looks wonderful,” you tell her, shaking your hip a little so that it dings.

She smiles, but her eyes have drifted. They catch on the bindings of your wrist, even as you try to angle it away from her. There is confusion in her gaze as she blinks up at you, pushing her sodden bangs back from her forehead. “Are you-?”

“I’m alright. It’s just for show,” You wink at her and lean down, as if you’re sharing a secret, “The Sea God is a little dramatic, huh?”

That earns a full laugh from her. Her uncle has taken a step forward, looking to pull her back, but she’s whispering, “Do you think he’s handsome?”

You grin, even as she’s being tugged back. “He better be.”

And then she’s gone. There’s a little, “Bye! I’ll see you later!” shouted over the gusts of wind as her uncle hauls her back to her father’s house. The street is deathly quiet in her absence. Everyone is staring at you. Their gazes were already heavy with sadness and shame but the pity there now is one you burn under.

You throw the crowd a shining, convincing smile. “Wouldn’t you say so?” You ask, dragging them into the conversation as if it were all a joke; as if you weren’t afraid at all. “For all of this, he had better be breathtaking.”

There’s a startled laugh from one of your old classmates before they slap a hand over their mouth; horrified for finding humor in this situation. But the tension has eased a little bit. The pity in their eyes is gone. After this, when they think of you, they will remember you with your head up and a smile on your face. They will associate you with reckless bravery and not the kind of fear that’s making every step harder than the last.

Isleen returns her hand to your back, gentler this time. She murmurs something under her breath; that it’s time to go, that you can’t waste anymore time, that the storm’s eye is approaching, but she seems distracted. Shaken. You remember the brides in your youth; there were two that you can remember and both of them trembled and sobbed their ways to the docks. It is only the fact that your bindings grow looser by the second that you keep yourself from trembling the same way they had.

No one else approaches as you make your way to the docks. There are people lining the streets that you have never met; that have come from the far other end of your village and even the neighboring city nestled in the mountains just beyond the coast. They have come to pay their respects.

You wish nothing more than to spit in their face.

But you behave yourself. You keep your head up, gaze pinned to the dark grey horizon and watch the chaotic sky light up with every lightning crash. The thunder that rumbles the earth is one you take comfort in. You pretend it is yours; your own rage and desperation shaking the foundations of your world.

The ship waits for you at the docks, large and imposing. The Meris. It is the largest ship your village has. In this storm, with the water crashing up against the sides with a ferocity that makes even you shiver, it is a risk to take it out but that is exactly what grants it protection. The Sea Brides are taken out on only the most valuable ship; a sign of reverence to the Sea God himself that what is onboard is something treasured. It has to be, or your sacrifice would mean nothing.

The wind is harsher here. The hill that your village rests on sloping down into the docks. They are nearly larger than the village itself and, for a moment, you’re struck by sickening familiarity. The first step onto the creaking wood nearly collapses you; the years sliding past.

Suddenly, you’re 8 years old racing down here for the first time to wave goodbye to your father as he sails away for a fishing trip. You’re 10 years old on that ship for the first time as he teaches you how to sail. You’re 12 as you and Koen sneak down in the middle of the night to listen to the waves and laugh and play pirates on the tied boats. You’re 15, a bag over your shoulder, convinced that this time is when you’ll truly leave after a fight with your mother. You’re 18, the day after your birthday, sneaking onto the docks and untying a little boat you’ve christened as The Aeloria. You took her out into the open ocean until your village was a speck in the distance, drowned out by the endless stars in the sky. The water was calm; the air warm. You fell asleep, lulled by the rolling waves that lapped lazily at the sides.

You went back once the sun came back up. No one even knew you had gone. No one knew how often you went back out. Well, no one except Koen.

He’s on the ship, you realize as you get closer. Amidst the crew of about 20, most with men and women you’ve never seen before, he stands at the edge. You can’t see his eyes, not with the wind whipping his too-long hair across his face but he grips the boat’s side so tightly you wince.

“This is as far as I go,” Isleen whispers as one of the men comes down the ramp to get you. “May the Sea God accept you.”

You bite your tongue so hard that your mouth fills with the tang of blood. She walks away before you lose your composure. The man introduces himself but you don’t hear it. Why would you care? It’s just another face pushing you into certain death. As he does, your determination to get out hardens to steel.

No matter what happens, there will always be another bride. Whether the Sea God accepts you or not, there is always another sacrifice made. Another storm on the horizon.

You board the ship and Koen is at your side in an instant. He talks lowly to the man until you’re traded between them. You grimace, upper lip curling at the man’s back as he walks away.

“I’m sorry,” Koen says, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve taken you away.”

Your snarl vanishes as he hugs you. Again, you struggle at your bindings, desperate to hug him back. You settle for shoving your cheek into his chest. “It’s not your fault Ko,” you say, “I wouldn’t have gone. You know that.”

He pulls away, his hands moving to cradle your face like he’s memorizing your features. No matter how long it’s been, you’re always a little astonished at the man’s face that stares back at you. The shift had happened some years back; where your brother, even if not by blood, had changed from a lanky teenager to a well-built adult. There was a time where you were taller than him and had lorded that fact over his head but now he towers over you; strong and wide from taking his father’s place for fishing expeditions. He was gone more often than not now; either out on the sea or traveling to the city to sell the caught wares.

There are tears in his large brown eyes now and you can see the boy he once was. “Would you go now?”

You still in his grasp. There are people around. Listening ears angled towards your conversation. You throw him a fake smile and hope that he can hear the lie in your words when you reply, “No. I know what’s at stake.”

Something in his expression shutters. Your stomach drops, terrified that he actually believes you. He is swept away before you can tell for certain.

“ALL HANDS!”

The captain’s roar sets the ship into chaos. Despite it being a charter to your own death, your hands itch with memory; yearning to help set the sails. To do something. It would ease some of your nerves. But your hands are still bound, so at the ship’s side you stay.

You have nothing else to do but watch as you sail away from the dock. You plant your feet wide, trying to brace for the lurching waves. In the distance, you think you can see your mother and father; at the top of that hill, staring down from over the cliffs. You will make it back to them.

This is not where you die. You swear it.

But the ship jolts and, without your hands, you lose your balance. You fall hard onto the deck. The crew rushes around you. Commands thrown above the howling winds, the water pooling onto your lap as you try to force yourself back up.

It is no use. By the time Koen sees you and races over to haul you back to your feet, the village is gone. The far too see in the growing distance. Your last glimpses at your parents have vanished into the thickening fog, mired by rain.

“Are you okay?” Koen shouts over the wind.

You spin in his grasp. The waves are choppier here and it is only by his hands do you stay upright. Your hair is a mess. Your cheeks burn with the slice of rain and tears that wouldn’t stop. The dagger slaps against your thigh. The listening ears from earlier are busy now. “How far are we going?”

Confusion knots his brows together. He shakes his head, trying and failing to clear the water from his eyes. “Past the cove. Into the deep and no further.” The ship jolts again and he does his best to keep you both steady. “The storm is only worsening. They won’t dare go as far as normal.”

You glance up. It is nearly dark as night; the billowing clouds grow denser and denser. Lightning strikes nearly constantly; illuminating the clouds with bright flashes that turn the grey into something almost purple. Thunder roars and it is almost drowned out by the wind that rushes past, churning the sea.

You take a shuddering breath and work at the bindings again, using his body to shield the movements from view. “I don’t have much time, then!”

His mouth falls open, tragedy etching itself into his face. “No!” His hands move to your shoulders, gripping them tightly. He hauls you back into his chest. For an instant, you’re a child again, seeking him out for comfort because someone had teased you. “Please, you can’t- there’s still-”

Then, he stills. You know him well enough to know the moment he looks down over your shoulder and sees you working at Isleen’s knots. He jolts back. Holds you at arm’s length. The stare he pins you with is intense. “Are you-?”

The question hangs between you two. There is hesitance in his voice; the beginnings of fear and hope. It is not the first time he’s asked this of you; to protect yourself rather than the village. To run.

“You could leave,” he had said as you rowed yourself back to the docks. The early dawn light turned his brown hair into something warm; the exact color of the tea his mother always made. He watched as you secured the Aurelia, intense and hopeful. “You should.”

You were shaking your head before you even stepped foot on the docks. “I can’t.”

He jerked his head away from you. As if stubbornly watching the horizon would disguise the sadness that darkened his face. “Your life, I guess.”

You had splashed him, then, and rolled your eyes as he yelped. “Big sap. Admit it!”

He had scoffed and lunged for you. “Nah, I’m looking forward it, actually! Maybe then I’ll get a day of peace!”

You had run and he had chased you and both of you had stubbornly refused to acknowledge the way tears had burned in your eyes.

It’s a scene that played out over and over again but this time is real. It’s as if the sea has reached the end of its patience. Staring down the barrel of your fate, there are no more jokes left. Only Koen staring down at you with impossible hope and a steel grasp.

You nod, once. “Is the Aurelia here?”

The tears Koen had tried to keep back stream openly down his face. He smiles down at you, hands suddenly trembling at your shoulders. There is a moment where you are certain that he will hug you again; that he will yell in celebration but, thankfully, he seems to remember the crew around you at the last second. He glances over his shoulder and then turns you around in his grasp. The heat of his chest warms your back as he crowds you against the railing.

To anyone else, it would look like a lovers’ embrace. You roll your eyes, already knowing how gossip would spread the minute the crew returns. The tragic story they’ll spin; the two lifelong friends finally realizing their feelings for each other at the last second. Nevermind the fact that Koen had been consistently seeing a woman from the city and had eagerly shown you the sapphire necklace he planned to give her.

But the position gives you both privacy. The few crewmen who race by tip their heads in respect, solemnly giving you both a wide berth before the end. Not a single one bothers to actually look and not a single one notices how Koen reaches for your dagger and begins to saw at the bindings.

As he works, he tells you in a low voice, “She’s on the port-side. I managed to convince Embrys to take her.”

You lean your head back briefly, resting it on his collarbone; a quick ‘thank you’ for his efforts. The Aurelia is larger than their typical dinghies, though not by much. Your throat also closes up a bit at the implication there. That, even at the last moment, Koen hadn’t given up on you.

“Supplies?” You whisper, looking back onto the sea.

He hums as the bindings grow loose. “Stocked. They’re hidden under the bench.”

You nod. A moment later, the rope falls entirely from your wrists. There’s a quick shuffling behind you as he scrambles to shove the rope into his jacket to hide the evidence. As if that’s the most reasonable course of action. With a roll of your eyes, you reach back between you two and snatch the rope from his hands. Before he could protest, you slide it smoothly over the railing and watch it disappear into the wine-dark sea.

There’s a small, “Oh. Right.” behind you and, despite the situation, you do your best to stifle a laugh.

“Dumbass,” you say, turning in his arms so you can face him. You keep your hands secured behind your back, feigning the bindings. You tilt your head at him and smile a bit. “You’re certainly prepared, Ko. What if I had said no? Went through with this for the greater good?”

He grins at you, a little lopsided, and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I would’ve thrown your demon ass into the boat, regardless.” When he pulls back, there’s a seriousness in his eyes that makes your throat close up a bit. “Besides, I know you. It just took you a few years to catch up to what I already knew.”

You lean your head against his chest before he could see you cry. A moment later, he’s tapping at your shoulder. “Come on kid, let’s get you out of here.”

“Aren’t you scared?” You can’t help but ask. The Sea God will be furious. The storms may only grow worse. There has never been a time where the sea didn’t have its bride. No one knows what would happen next.

Koen shakes his head, even if his eyes betray him. “No,” he lies, and then comes the truth, “It’ll be worth it.” He doesn’t give you another chance to cry. “Now, come on. We don’t have much time.”

He wraps a hand around your bicep, as if to steady you. The captain is still yelling and your stomach drops as you realize what exactly is happening. One of the larger sails has torn in the brutal wind. It won’t sink you, but it means that, for the moment, no one has the time to focus on you. If there was ever a time, it’s now. You both wait until the ship lurches again; a wave throwing itself over the side. The water is brutally cold and you yelp as it washes over your back. Koen, however, hardly seems to notice. As the ship tilts port-side, he starts running. Nearly dragging you along behind him. Your slippered feet slide across the slick wood and you’re cursing yourself for not wearing more practical shoes. For Isleen not giving you the time to.

One of your slippers catches on the wood and you pitch forward. It’s fast enough that it rips you from Koen’s grasp. The linen pants you had foolishly worn, thinking you’d have more time, tears at the knees. There’s a sting and a heartbeat of bright red against the beige fabric before the water washes it away. Your palms ache with the impact. Somewhere behind you, the captain roars. Dimly, you realize that he’s seen you. They know you’re trying to get away.

Koen hauls you to your feet. “GO!” He pushes you towards the Aurelia. You stumble forward.

This time, he doesn’t follow. You glance over your shoulder just long enough to see him bracing; ready to buy you time from the few crewmen who are now desperately lunging for you. There is a moment where your eyes meet. Your oldest friend; your brother. A thousand words pass between you two; ‘thank you’, ‘I love you’, ‘be safe’.

He nods. And then you’re gone. Racing towards the edge. Towards your boat. You are faster than the crewmen. They are borrowed from the mountain city and do not know the waves as well as you. They did not grow up on the water like you have. Your balance is not perfect, but it’s better than theirs.

You leap over the railing, landing hard in the Aurelia. Muscle memory keeps you moving. You untie her with practiced hands, even as fear and adrenaline spikes your heart. The roaring of your pulse is louder than the storm around you. Your hands shake. You’re really doing this.

“I am not his to claim,” you mutter under your breath, trying to will resolve back into your body.

With the captain’s roar over the winds, the last rope comes undone under your hand. The boat plummets to the water, fast and sharp and your stomach hollows out with it. You grip the sides, holding back your scream. The impact sends you sprawling. Above you, the crew, the captain, and Koen lean over the railing. They are horrified. Mouths dropped open in terror. Hands gripping the wood as though contemplating jumping over after you. They scream your name; voices a cacophony over the wind.

You ignore them. You dive for the bench to check on your supplies. Reach for the secured oars. The sea churns under you; harsher than it was on the larger ship. Your gut roils and you sweep your hair away from your face. You can hardly see through the ocean spray and the sheets of rain. The crew yells for another boat. They seek to come after you. They only silence when the captain raises a hand. He pins you with an ugly look, enraged and disgusted all at once. You meet it, unflinchingly.

“The ocean will claim her, one way or another,” he says and you barely hear it over the wind.

You snarl. Like hell it will. You take one look at Koen and he subtly points to your left. You know what he means; the cove is that way. If you make it there, you can get out. Wait for the storm to pass and make for land after. You can start over somewhere far away. Meet your parents on that cliff and hug them again. Meet him in his beloved city. You nod and grip the oars. The ocean fights you every second of the way. The waves churn beneath your dinghy. It is dark; so, so dark that your eyes strain to see. Every few seconds, lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating the ocean for just a flash. It roils beneath you; a living thing.

You’ve gone sailing before. You grew up on the shallows. But this is like nothing you’ve ever faced. The storm rages on. The water wants you. Your dinghy is a much easier prey than the manned ship. So much easier to capsize. You struggle against the waves. Against the wind. You don’t want to die. Not like this.

You cling to your boat as the wind howls. As the Aurelia tilts. The Meris vanishes into the ocean spray and fog. A wave larger than 10 men rears up beside it and the masts disappear behind the water. A deep, cold fear seizes your bones.

“Don’t take him!” You scream into the open air, “It’s me you want!”

The ocean does not heed you. Perhaps you are a fool to think it would. For just a moment, you think you see something beneath the water. A flash of violet beneath the dark waves. In the next lightning flash, it’s gone. You row with everything you have. Desperation warming your bones despite the chilled water. But in a particularly brutal wave that throws itself against you, one of your oars snap. It doesn’t take long for the other one to go as well.

A deep rage settles in your soul. You will not die here. You row on broken oars as the waves grow harsher and harsher. They are larger than you. They loom over your boat and crash. You go under multiple times, held together only by the grip you keep on the boat itself. It is a miracle that you do not flip over.

Until it isn’t.

Lightning crackles across the sky as the ocean lords over you. It heard your yell and has, in the end, heeded you. The sea has come to claim its bride.

It does not matter how tightly you cling to the Aurelia. It cannot save you. The wave drowns you. Drags you into the deep. You scream, loud as the roaring wind, before the ocean takes that, too. In an instant, you are weightless. Water snakes its way up your nose, down your throat before your brain catches up. Before you hold your breath and try to orient yourself. Which way is up? You scramble in the water. The cold sinks its way beneath your skin. It wraps itself around your limbs like shackles. You grit your teeth. Your eyes burn with the saltwater, but this, at least, you’re used to. Panicking will kill you faster than the water will so you force yourself to calm. To wait for the lightning flash to orient yourself around.

It never comes.

The water roils around you; the waves from the surface digging down deep. You are buffeted, tugged, and dragged every which way. There is an instant where you think you see the flash of violet again; a pair of eyes watching you in the deep but it is gone in the next breath. Your heart thunders in your ears. Your lungs burn. Everything in you screams to take a breath. The water around you thrashes with you. There is a rumbling in the deep. You can’t tell if it's thunder or your own heartbeat.

Ba-dumba-dum-ba-dumba-dum.

It is deafening. You resist the urge to scream. You will not die here. Not like this. The ocean cannot have you.

Ba-dum-ba-dumba-dum-

Your vision grows dark at the edges. A true black; a darkness that you thrash against. The burn in your lungs begins to fade. The cold no longer nips at your fingers. A memory resurfaces. A classmate who had been pulled from the waves recounting how they went. That drowning is soft.

Easy.

You grit your teeth. You will not stop fighting. Even as the water coaxes your body into stillness. Yearns for you to ease into the buffeting tides. The lightning flashes, finally but it is distant. The surface is so, so far. You reach a hand up for it.

Ba-dum..ba-dum….ba-dum…

Your eyes burn. Are you crying? You can’t tell. You must be, though. Koen risked his life to set you free. They may throw him overboard next. Your mother is waiting for you. She wanted you to be better than her; to fight until the very end, to never accept defeat.

Ba-dum, ba-....dum

                                             ba-dum…

                                                                         Ba-dum…

There is movement around you. Seaweed? Fish? The waves itself? Lightning catches on a tail; bright blue and violet mixing in with the dark sea. You squint, whirling around as much as you can to try to catch it. Your limbs ache. You’re so tired. You fought well. Isn’t that enough?

Ba-dum….

                   Ba-dumba-dumba-

                                                                            dum.

Everything is slowing. The darkness is creeping in. You needed something; you’re sure of it. The surface…

It’s so pretty. You drift, buffeted by the water, staring up at the lightning flashes far, far above. The ocean is chaotic and deadly and brutal and the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. It wants you but that want no longer feels fervent. It wraps itself around you; an embrace from something you’ve lived alongside your entire life.

Something is watching you. The flick of a too-large tail catching in your peripheral.

Ba…

                    dum. Ba-dum ba-dum…

Violet eyes catch yours. Somewhere deep down you know you should be shocked. He drifts alongside you, tail flicking lazily in the current. Dimly, you recognize that you were wrong earlier. This is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Violet and blue eyes like a too-hot flame bore into yours. He stares at you like you’re mud on his shoe; a bug that he’s waiting on to die but your hand drifts for him anyways. His hair looks so soft; a gorgeous purple that rings around his face like a halo. Scales glitter softly on his neck, his chest and, admittedly, your gaze lingers there far longer than it would in any other circumstance. You should feel ashamed; to gawk so openly but even that feels distant.

Ba-dum ba-

                                   dum. Ba-

His lips move and a voice curls around you. You can’t understand it but your eyes close, tilting closer to the sweet sound. Distantly, so, so distantly, alarm bells are ringing in your head. You were here for a reason. Something moves at your hip. Your dagger floating free from its sheath. And, next to it, a small windchime is torn away by the waves.

A little girl’s face drifts across your memory. Orla. A good luck charm. A ritual. A sacrifice. Your eyes snap open. The merman flinches a little, shocked. You rally the strength you have left. Force your slowing heart to keep going. Just a little longer. You will not die here.

“...Sea God…” you gargle, sacrificing the last bit of air you held captive in your lungs, “....bride…”

The merman scowls. He is devastatingly beautiful in his anger. His mouth works for a moment before he speaks again, syllables rasping like seashells against rock. “I don’t want you.”

Ba-

                              dum.

You frown, your mind still too distant to fully comprehend. That…can’t be right. You’re the bride. The Sea God is supposed to accept you. You’re grasping at straws; your thoughts sparking off with every lightning flash. The desperate desire to live courses through your veins; by any means necessary. He laughs as you drift. As you struggle.

Rage sparks in your heart.

“My heart,” your mother had tutted at you, tucking the blanket under your chin, “If you keep searching for mermaids and sea creatures, you’ll never find them.”

You had pouted at her, your hair still wet from the shower she had made you take. “But…why? We could be friends!”

She had laughed, then. “I’m sure you would be.” She patted your head. “My grandmother always said it was because they have something we want. We hunted them for it a long, long time ago and now they don’t trust us.”

Your brows had furrowed. “Like what?”

“Well, she always said that a kiss from a mermaid would give the breath of life.”

You frowned. “Like breathing underwater?” When she nodded, you scowled, disgusted. “So I have to kiss somebody to breathe underwater!? Gross!”

Her laughter had woken up your father.

The memory drifts past you. You glare at the merman, heart slowing in your chest but still so, so loud that it threatens to obliterate whatever sense you have left. There is no way she was right. It is a foolish idea. But it’s the only one you have. And maybe, at the very least, it will wipe that cruel smirk off his face.

With one last rally of strength, you lunge forward and grab his hand. He whirls around, eyes wide in horrified anger. Impossible fire crackles from his skin. The pain whites out your vision for a moment but you refuse to let go. You won’t. No matter how much it hurts.

The cruel amusement in his eyes vanishes as he twists against your hold. “Let go of me.”

“No.”

His lip curls. “I said-!”

You don’t let him finish. Survival comes first. You yank him forwards and haul his horrified mouth to yours.

Ba-

His lips are soft. Warm enough to fight off the chill of the ocean. It does not last for long. Your body drifts away from you. Your grip is slackening. 

                                                                    dum.

Ba-dum. ….Ba-dum. Ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum-

Your body forces you to drag in a deep breath. Oxygen floods your lungs like fire. You kick the merman away as you double over in the water, coughing. You can feel liquid in your lungs and panic claws up your throat at the foreign feeling.

The merman glowers. “You-!”

You ache. You burn. You are exhausted and tired and your chest is on fire; your heart working overtime to catch up. Your head pounds in time with it.

But you are not done. Not yet. The merman seems torn between getting the fuck away from you and killing you where you float. You grab the knife at your side before he decides. With a kick of your legs, you’re back in his face with the blade at his throat. “Take me to the surface.”

He stares at you and, as the darkness recedes from your vision, you’re taken aback by the shining of his eyes. Luminescence radiates off of him; those brilliant, shining blue and violet eyes pinning you in place, even as you refuse to let him go. This close, you can finally see the jewelry he’s adorned in, the markings on his face that accentuate his too-beautiful features. You understand all too quickly why the best fishermen in your village are afraid of these creatures; of the fatal potency of sirens’ beauty.

Something in his gaze shifts as you finally catch your breath. Interest flickers across his face. “Do you realize what you’ve just done?”

You are too exhausted for this shit. “I don’t care. Just save me.” Your chest is heaving and you can’t help but add, “I don’t want to die here.”

He seems taken aback by that. His eyes narrow, assessing you. “What will you do for your survival?”

Your grip tightens. “Anything.”

A small smile curves his lips. His head tilts. This time, when he speaks, the rasp in his voice is gone. “Then, I’ll do as you wish. On one condition…” It’s soft now, low and enthralling. Your body turns towards him on its own accord and you fight the urge to close your eyes; to physically lean into the sound of his voice. “Offer yourself to me. Everything that you are and everything that you will be is mine.”

The words settle somewhere deep beneath your skin. They wind themselves around your arms like shackles; an ancient awareness crackling between you. For the first time, it truly begins to dawn on you that the man in front of you isn’t just a merman but the ocean’s deity; the Sea God himself. This is a creature that could snap you in half. That could dissolve your skin into sea foam.

You should cower. But you are still your mother’s daughter. So, instead, you frown and press your blade into his neck a little tighter. “That’s a lot to ask from someone in your position.”

The merman laughs and the sound curls around you like smoke. “How long do you think you’ll last out here?” He leans in a bit, that smile going sharp at the edges. “You can breathe, but how long until your body gives up on you?”

You swallow, trying to hide your fear. His grin widens like a shark scenting blood in the water. “Tell me, mortal, what do you think will kill you first? The pressure of the deep or starvation?” He taps his fingers against the hand holding the knife. “Are you willing to find out?”

Your hand trembles beneath his touch. The bravery you’re clinging to is wearing thin. Desperation thrums in your blood; all too aware that this may be the best chance of survival you’ll get. You tilt your chin up and feign confidence. “What would this entail?”

Delight gleams in his eyes. “You will be my follower. Devout. Willing. Swear your heart to me, and, in exchange, I will ensure your deliverance.”

In a horrifying way, it makes sense. Every God needs their followers. Needs their believers. But, instinct tells you that something is wrong here. Why bargain for it? Why this of all things? You consider him. “I thought you didn’t want me. Asking for my love now seems a little…”

His smile sharpens. The amusement in his eyes hardens to annoyance. “Love has nothing to do with it.” He raises a brow. “My patience is thinning, mortal.”

With an inhuman strength, he wrenches your hand away from his throat. And then, he’s drifting away from you with lazy strokes of his tail, leaving you to drift alone, untethered. Without him keeping you afloat, the water begins to drag you deeper, winding its weights around your ankles. The Sea God may not want you but the ocean does. You scramble to keep afloat but your body is screaming. At long last, your strength finally fails you.

Terror pushes the words from your throat. “Alright! I agree!” You reach for him, sinking like a rock dropped into the shallows, “I swear it!”

In an instant, he’s in front of you. He curls you into his arms, eyes shining so brightly that it drowns out the lightning strikes from far above. “Then, it is done.” His voice coils in the air, heavy with ancient enchantment; lowering into the siren’s drawl. “Go to sleep. You’ll need that strength when you wake.”

Exhaustion washes over your body; a heavy sleepiness dragging your eyelids closed. You fight against it. “I don’t…you don’t need to do that. I’ll be-”

He laughs under his breath. “And I’ll be taking this, as well,” he says, plucking the knife from your hand, “Now sleep. I’m quite convinced that you’ll try to bite or scratch me on the way there.”

You want to tell him that you won’t, even if it tastes like a lie on your lips, but the urge to sleep is more powerful. Your body yearns for rest; your limbs aching and burning from effort and adrenaline. Fear still strangles your heart of what comes next but at least you’ll be alive for it.