changedpcth ;
the sea can be kind & the sea can be angry, will waves stilled or a roaring current -- there is the same violent unpredictability there as the tide that runs through her veins, now angry & frightened & surging with frustration unlike anything she’s ever felt. -- and per- haps she’s so angry at herself, at her choice to stay out, her ign- orance of the unsettled waves, for the loss of control that’s land- ed her swishing in a tank no more than four feet wide, deep en- ough ( only just ) to hold her TAIL. they found her. they have her. & she’s so loathe to admit it’s fear that keeps her silent behind the glass. this morning they’d asked her questions but to no avail ; mar- ina won’t give them that pleasure. they don’t deserve it ( though, strangely enough, they disappeared about an hour prior ; something stirs in the back of her throat and it tastes like dread ). so when the door across the lab opens, she swims back against the far side of the glass and waits, brown hair floating along the surface ; can’t really make out who it is, though. a few people. ------------- hm. let them come -------- she’ll shatter the fucking tank.
