The Call of the Sea
Mist swirls around her; its cold, clammy hands pushing, pulling at her core, clinging to her skin with chilled, watery fingers, and snuffs the last lingering streaks of sunlight reflecting upon slate blue waters. Facing the tumultuous sea, she spreads her arms, raising them as if to embrace the coming twilight - a time between worlds, where light and dark balance in hazy equality. The whisper of things, a time forgotten, sings low across the rushing waves, and tugs at her memory before it melts into a quiet hiss of notes, to curl in lovingly around her ankles.
It brings her joy for the most part; and yet, a burning pain flashes through her rapidly beating heart, searing it with knowledge and loss. This world is not hers any longer, but she remembers nonetheless; can taste the sharp bite of brine on her tongue, can scent the crisp, mineral wash riding on the wind; can see things that aren't meant to be seen with human eyes. Things that hide their very faces within the foam itself.
She sees, hears, tastes; and she mourns a life ripped callously from her fingers by the one that professes to love her, but seeks only to possess, to vanquish, to crush the indomitable spirit dwelling within. Love - it was a cold, hard comfort to the song that once filled her heart, one still faintly beats through her veins.
One that calls eternally to her soul.
Breathing in deeply, she raises her arms, palms out, fingers splayed in ritual, exulting in the flux of the currents surrounding her, stirring through the air and humming in the clear waters swirling at her feet, sending shocks of electricity jolting down her spine. It's times like this, when the moon is near full and the tides expand, rise, that she feels alive; in touch with her very nature.
It is but a fleeting moment; one that crashes at her ritual's end, leaving her to face empty waves, and her people turning their eyes away from the grounded, shunning the lost even to this day. It's a dagger to the heart those careless glances and condescending smirks; but no matter the numerous times she tells herself this will be the final attempt, the moon and the tides beckon, continue to rise and fall, and she can't escape. She capitulates to this siren's call despite the anguish pricking at her senses like shards of glass with each failure.
Closing her eyes, she breathes out, her awareness dipping down, deep into the golden well at the center of her being, inhaling sharply as tendrils of light curl up, wrapping around her within its gentle embrace. It's fluid power touches her skin with a faint luminance, and radiates, lighting her from the inside out, connecting her to each and every breath, each heartbeat, each lifeforce in the world.
And for that one breathtaking moment, she is at peace.
She rarely allows her gifts to unfurl; knows with weighted heart that she cannot be caught practicing her craft; that it is in detriment to her life and limb if he were to observe and realize she wasn't as cobbled as he'd hoped when he stole what was rightfully hers. She knows that she should repress the magic that is her birthright, stuff it into a dusty corner, and ignore the waters of her birth; but for this shining night, this one time, she rebels and embraces all that she is. When he is laid low, heavy in drink - and a special brew of her own making - she indulges in the secret she hopes he never learns.
Opening her eyes, a smile touches cool, pink lips as the moon crests the horizon and words from an ancient tongue spill from them in devotion - Blessings Bright One; lend indulgence to your exiled child. Grant me serenity and the chance to feel your pulse once more.
Raising her staff, a flash of joy flares as power sears along her nerves, a cool, almost icy fire as moonlight, salt water and the sea breeze tickles her skin, drawing forth an answering burn deep within her heart.
It was magic, as ancient as the land on which she stood, as natural as the water from whence it came and as dear as her forsaken mother's embrace. Knowledge that she was still so blessed, flickers and assuages the ache within her soul, knowing that, at the very least, the Mother of All still found her worthy despite her weakness of being bound to flesh.
It was both blessing and curse, both gift and agony; a double-edged sword that the mother would speak to her once more. The joy of hearing her voice - You have always been so blessed, my child - wars with the certainty that she will ever stand at the edge of her world, a mere observer, and never again would she swim within the depths of her beloved sea, nor would she communicate with her kind; her skin had been taken and burned, rendered useless.
Clenching her eyes to the pain, a bright green sparkling with the first hint of tears, she swallows thickly at her fate - to always remain at the outside of everything she holds dear. Images flutter through her mind, flashes of lives coming and going, ebbing and flowing as the tides themselves wax and wane. Generations would pass before her blood would return to its rightful place - her daughter's daughter's daughter many times over, until a thousand years have passed. Then, and only then, would she see the end of this exile; her descendant would right the wrong done to she and hers.
Until that time, she would sit, ever mourning, craving the cool, blue waters at her feet and only feeling alive once a month, when the tides turn and the moon is full above her. Then, for but a moment in time, she could forget the reckless, fool of a girl, who allowed herself to be caught up in love and lust, giving her now enemy the opportunity to steal her coat, grounding her while she unwittingly frolicked at the edge of the sea.