#tiiamate

  when she was a child , her mother , nadia , would invent songs from psalms of the qur’an . with it , rain would cascades from the sky and beat upon tin roofs and in dusty streets , sagging the long tarps merchants would spread over the bazaar to shade it from a midday sun when rain would otherwise bow it like a grandfather’s haggard back . those were innocent days long past , and she’d since traded lullabies for a simple creed . where she was wet , mismatched eyes blinking blearily as she stiffly gathered herself , adjusting to the dark . inside , innumerable rivulets of waters cascades around a tiered dais , reminding of istanbul’s own porte . gaping in disbelief , it were as though it were the interior of an iceberg , though it lacked the cold . standing carefully , she was shocked to veins of cobalt light seem to awaken with her .

  a congested sensation rattled her lungs and drowned them in salt water at the sensation of , stirring waters seeming to boil and buckle to the altissian seas . waterfalls could halt their cascade and little would prepare the crystal-touched maid for the divine confluence that sought to tear asunder one attuned and yet , not . for as an adherent of the inferean does the threads of betrayal flame errant and deep , salt-pinched and watered by ice . agni reveres the goddess with a bow , breath slipping through exhaustive lungs .

  it was by night it was ushered , by night had it came . a meandering solitude solicited her , drawing her in ebbing waves of mercury and steel . these dreams had been nothing new . clawing at her consciousness and sundering the walls of unreality to this reality , the darkness came and it was with absolute silence . lapping waters pressed upon pristine , white shores where in a single isle of sand and hollow sky vaulted into an utter midnight devoid of stars . instead , they swam upon this undulating sea , scintillating beneath its glassy surface crisply cool . yuna had seen this before ; had availed mismatched eyes to the empty heavens and galactic sea . a ribbon of milky white extended like a path for her to walk , too far and too distant , but touching the shore with tenebrous influence . from the diamond dust of the shoreline did she depart to the water , blue luminescence activated where she walked and dissipating like paint in water as she advanced . 

  yuna walked on the briskly chilled mirror of the sea , white skirts barely soaked as she advanced . it was a dream , she reminded herself . it would carry as it usually did -- the unintelligible muttering of an ancient god , she would thrash the oceans , and yuna would drown in a consuming cyclone . then , she’d awaken , bewildered and hacking on her own breath and wheezing for it . her eyes ascended and she bowed , a ritualistic venture to the primordial goddess yet to ascend and make these waters disquiet . however , it felt too real . the water lapped at her feet vividly , and its chill was more biting than usual , feeling her bare feet go numb . her digits felt cold and blue , but -- yuna willed herself to remain calm , to convince her own mind it was playing tricks on her . 

  she sighed . all the more reason to finish up this unusual dream .

  ‘ great goddess of the sea -- i’m here . and i’m ready . ‘ 

  it’s said simply , but it’s only routine , like usual , right ?

A maelstrom storms itself amidst a massive sea. Teeth rip through the waves like rocks, set to crash ships upon them as though they are naught but flimsy structures. Her soul is a crashing sea. A raging storm that storms down upon the ship graveyard that lingers in the ever moving waters. 

The perfect storm. The never ending hurricane. 

However, there is a light. A single light that shines down from parted clouds to bask over the eye of the tempest. It cuts into the maw of the maelstrom, where the death of sailors should be long since engulfed by the emotionless ocean. There she sits, her hair a constant flow of the very blue that surrounds her. The beacon of light touches her brow and she stands in peace amongst the chaos, an open hand cast out to welcome the sailors that crashed upon her waves. 

        The Leviathan is the Calm in her own Storm.