Maker.
That is what her kelpie thought of herself as.
That is what he calls her.
But he could not have said anything more wounding.
Now she is of rational mind. The mind that knows eating meat is wrong, killing is wrong. Now she is of rational mind. The mind that knows the worst thing she could have done to someone is turn them into what she is.
He looks upon her with such loathing. With such exposed and bleeding resentment. Sereia feels it. It is as if his teeth are digging into her flesh. But they go deeper still, down into her heart and her soul. Her creation takes its maker apart, piece by miserable, wretched piece.
Sereia squirms beneath his gaze, less a lion than a worm. Her sorrow and regret makes her small and pitiful. She nods as he rejects her apology. She agrees and she says so to him, “I know -”. And she longs to apologise again. It is there, upon her lips, nearly out in the depths of the blue for him to hear with his new sea-deep hearing.
But she doesn’t say it. Instead she hangs in the water, as if by the noose of her own grief. And she watches him as he floats in the midst of ribbons and smudges of red. He is a broken body, but he is becoming. Sereia knows he will be ever more beautiful, ever more savage for it. And she hates herself.
“Why did you not run?” The question is desperate. It is confused as she watches him with wide eyes and a disbelief over all that has happened.
His blood is sweet, she can take it no more. Slowly she swims to him. “Come. You need to heal. I can help you. It is the least I can do.” Her lips are downturned, her lashes heavy over her weeping eyes.
“There is a cave nearby. Come.”
@
an unspoken soliloquy of dreams
~ Ariana
