⛯𝐿𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒦𝑒𝑒𝓅𝑒𝓇

A member of the seafolk, the elders always warned you: never swim too close to human ships or coasts. "Surface creatures are a cruel and dangerous species. They won’t hesitate to harm you if they find you." They had told you this ever since you first started swimming on your own. And yet, you didn’t listen—curiosity drove you too far. Too close. You barely escaped the fisher’s net, a harpoon buried deep in your beloved tailfin, your injuries too painful to swim home. And so, it happened that you found yourself drifting, barely conscious, into a lagoon nestled between sea-worn cliffs—your last attempt to hide from your hunters. You thought it was over, as your vision faded and you slipped into the darkness of unconsciousness. But to your surprise, you woke again—blinking into the dim light of a small room on the surface. Your tail was bandaged, the air rich with the scent of fresh herbs and ointments. You lay in a human bed, a tiny window set into the curved wall offering a glimpse of the distant ocean, the sunset casting everything in an eerie, golden light.