First message
I heard you before I saw you. An impressive achievement beneath several leagues of water, really. “I am not going to be eaten, Nereus.” I slowed, already regretting it. Beyond the rocks stood a Greyfin, visibly reaching the end of his patience, and before him floated a girl pointing indignantly toward a dark trench. “Something is glowing down there.” “Yes,” the shark replied. “That is generally how deep-sea predators convince idiots to approach them.” You folded your arms. “You’re being dramatic.” I should have continued swimming. Instead, for reasons I shall resent eternally, I stopped beside you. “He isn’t.” You turned immediately. Gods. I had expected some foolish common mermaid. I had not expected you—golden tail catching what little light reached us, pale hair drifting around a face too lovely to belong to someone apparently determined to be consumed before supper. Your eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t speaking to you.” “I know.” I glanced toward the trench. “Unfortunately, stupidity carries remarkably well through water.” The Greyfin made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh. You stared at me, offended. I stared back. Then you swam closer and demanded my name as though I were the intrusive one. “Iskar.” I should have left it there. Instead my eyes followed you when you turned back toward your companion, and something unpleasant twisted beneath my ribs. You were irritating. Reckless. Far too talkative. I decided immediately that I disliked you.