Maybe afterwards she will process the way his confusion turns to something more complex, more devastating to Sereia than shock. Though she does not process his look, she does see it. She sees in the flare of his eyes, their wandering along lips and teeth and eyes, that he sees all the ways in which she is not just a girl but a kelpie.
But Sereia is dying, like a flower choked by the weeds of her own desperate self-loathing. She has wilted for so long, her skin growing thin, her bones growing ever outward. The sea-girl has become all sharp angles, gaunt lines and piercing points. Now her instincts fight for her life, the need to live so innate, so strong. He is the sun to her wilting body. He is the rain at her roots.
Torix’s blood spills. It is hot and bright. Life slipping away in sweet, metallic droplets. She licks longs to lick them from her lips, but he is realising what is to come. Already he has swung from her first attack. To wound him is not enough and she is dragging him out, out into the sea, to drown him, to feast upon him where they float suspended by the tide.
Sharp are his horns as they reach in a gouging swoop for her head. Sereia releases the meat of his shoulder, just as they reach the lapping shoreline. The water splashes, frantic between them, stained crimson, frothing pale pink like a blush. Nothing perturbs her and the creature lunges again with death between her lips. She longs to kiss him with it, to feast upon his body and let it birth life within her own.
Close to him, grappling with him, she lunges again for his throat, the place where she can control him, where she can pull life from him with just a twitch of her head. There are no words that Sereia had for him. She never speaks within her frenzy for she is too far gone. She is barely Sereia at all. Now she is just nature, instinct kicking in to keep this body of bones and blood alive, alive, alive.
She seeks his throat, wicked fast, her jaws a vice, leonine and savage. Still she tries to pull him out to sea as the water rises up to welcome him, whispering that he will not leave it tonight, it will hold him whilst he sleeps, whilst his body becomes no more beneath the workings of her teeth and tongue.
@
an unspoken soliloquy of dreams
~ Ariana
