Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.
Status: Incomplete
The earth was quiet that morning. The sun had not come out, staining the clouds a dizzying pearl-gray. She knew it would soon; the flickering dapples of sunshine playing a melody over the earth. The sun always came out. She had learnt that well in her time on the dry land.
That the sun came out, pushing away the rain and the water, and the plants would bend to it, stretching towards the sky in an ancient, loving caress.
She had learned many things here, in her time on the dry land. That they sky, and the earth were in constant motion; each trying to reach the other, endlessly, forever. A dance as old as the tides on the shores.
She missed it, that feeling; the sea, trying to reach its children chained to the earth, shackled by their pelts. The feeling of something ancient enveloping you in a dance as old as time. Like you were something more, something bigger, a part.
She was silent as she wandered through the trees. Her hands shook, and her breath was paralyzingly slow, eyes fluttering. She was weak. Utterly, totally weak without the sea. Even now, it called to her, and the rhythms of the earth mimicked those of the sea, and she yearned for something that was so close, and yet so terribly, horribly far.
It had told her that this forest was dangerous. That people did not come here unless they knew the path they walked on, and the dangers that could—would—swallow them whole. It had told her to stay away, and yet, this was the only place she knew as sanctuary.
It had been far too terrified to ever step foot onto this land.
The trees were quiet this morning, too. There were no chattering birds, no chirping insects, no fluttering wings that seemed to hardly beat as they passed by. The flowers, under the dappled weak sun, seemed tentative, careful, watching as she wandered, lost, confused, and searching.
She wondered, vaguely, if the silence was for her. Perhaps the creatures could feel her, remember her true nature, one not tied to this rough skin, and had tried to give it back, however they could. Like they knew why her legs were trembling and her breaths were short, and she could not keep up with the body that supported her.
Her head was dizzy as the smile creased on her face, and she tried to keep it, to show she was grateful for this silence, but it felt wrong, painful, like every other time.
Her teeth hurt. Her tongue was dry. Every swallow was a horrific endeavor.
She was cold now, and shivering, and her pale white skin pimpled in a way she remembered having to get used to. The water was always so warm, and she was always so cocooned in that layer of fat and blubber and familiarity, the rush of the currents brushing over her sleek dark skin. It was cold on the dry land, cold and wet, but not in a way she remembered having loved.
The sea was her creator, mother, and she missed it. Missed it so much that it dragged her back to its shores, and no matter how many times she waded into the water, the waves desperately clinging to her, she could not be dragged back.
The tide would leave her, and the waves would hiss, and she would cry.
Cry for a memory she could not keep, a time that could not be recovered. A time of wanderlust and play and deep crags that stretched for years into the core of the earth. A time of darkness and light, a time where the sun could not reach her as she swam, deep, deep, long forgotten.
Where only the currents of the sea kept her company, and the sound of stillness surrounded her; safe, dark, and warm.
The earth had changed now. She had seen it in the seas, before he'd taken her. She saw it now in the trees and the nature. The winding, black roads the ripped through the country, tore through everything that was before. The mountains that had toppled, reformed through weather and change and everything that used to be.
The humans had taken it, the gift of nature, of the spirits and the gods and everything lay in between, and molded it, carefully, cautiously, and it was too late when the rest of them remembered to notice.
She had seen so many alien things on this land, things she had wept about, been terrorized with and it had only laughed at her fear, her horror.
Now the sea was too warm again, and the ice melted too quick, and the waste was choking flippers and fins and drowning them where they were supposed to be free to roam. The trees no longer grew strong and tall, haphazardly, instead in neat printed rows with a clear exit, their branches lilting painfully. The plants crowded for air, and yet the fumes choked them, and the earth swallowed them, and nothing grew how it was supposed to. The sun beat down hard, harder than before, and it scorched her delicate skin and left rashes and burns where none had previously been.
It had found her because of the changes. Changes that had not been seen for many a millennium. Curiosity had always been her cardinal sin, and she'd swam carefully to the surface, the air still new on her skin, the feeling was like coming out of a dream.
The air was harsh, and for the first time she felt the coat of salt on her skin, crusting on her eyes and mouth. The sun had beat down on her mercilessly, and her eyes were squinting, trying to find a point of resemblance on the craggy moor.
Everything was gone again, and she was whirling with curiosity, buzzing with incredulity.
She remembered gripping her skin, the coat slipping off her, the blood underneath her fingernails, ripping through what had melded into skin and bone and flesh. She had screamed, the pain rippling down her back, and the hands that had torn her coat off her, and the terror that set in.
For years, it kept her. Kept her close and safe, and near, and no matter how much she searched for her pelt, she could not find it. The silkiness of her skin haunted her. Hands trembling every time she thought she brushed over it. It caught her every time. Its skin was cold and icy, and she missed her home in the waves, in her skin, but it would not let her go.
It liked the way she would sing, low, croaky, desperate; human voices could not capture the way she yipped and growled and barked at the sea, but it could. Liked how her eyes would round and her mouth drop whenever she saw the sea. How she wandered to her mother, lost and mewling, the waves reaching her waist, and sob as it would not, could not, take her back.
Its red eyes followed her to the ends of the earth, and no matter how many times she begged, pleaded, cried for her coat, it would not give it. It laughed, and the sound felt like poison as it crept down her throat, until she thought she would bleed black and not red, until she thought her insides were rotting, like the fish carcasses on the sandy bays it took her to.
She could not recognize anything anymore, did not know the place in which she inhabited, and she hated it for making her reliant, for having no true way of understanding this new, harsh world.
Its fingers would caress her back, taking in the translucent skin, still not used to the sun, never a skin that would never be used to the sun, thumbing the blue veins that stood out on her back, her cheek, her thigh. It liked her shimmery, strewn hair; it said the locks reminded him of pale, glimmering starlight; unreachable, and yet, with her, the sky stood within its grasp.
She hated it most when it ran its teeth over her neck. How it moaned when she shivered as it held her. Its hands were always so cold. So hard to break. Her skin bruised and broke underneath its touch and her blood would slip down her arms, pearls of beaded red slick, smelling of iron and fear.
But it was over now, for it could not reach her here not anymore.
She had smelled the change as soon as she stepped into the forest. The smell of dog and wet, and heat. How when they'd passed the rolling planes of green, it recoiled, rage filling red eyes, and its lip curled, and she began to plan.
A month, she'd planned. Watched It as it moved. As it avoided the Other Ones that looked at it strange, sniffing a little too hard when it came close; how their eyes would dilate, and it would move away, a snarl fixing on it lips.
It didn't like when others smelled her. To it, she knew she smelled of the sea, and quiet desperation, but her blood—the blood of her kind—sang to it. Allured all those who came, who tried to drink from her pearly skin. To them, she smelled of sweetness and secrets and everything that could and could not be.
It kept her close. In doing so, it made its fatal mistake. They'd torn down the door and the Other Ones had come in, and it had bellowed in rage and anger and terror as it watched her throw herself through the window, glass breaking through her skin.
She didn't quite remember how to run. It had not let her move, rather it had arranged her limbs and held her if it could. Her legs were wobbly, stumbling, and her heart beat in her throat, a beat of heady, hot desperation. The blood matted in her pale hair. There was a slice of glass next to her eye, but she dared not take it out. It was too deep, and while it stung, she could not bring herself to let her bleed even more.
It always found her when she bled.
She'd sat in the forest for a while, hugging her knees to her chest, the sobs wracking her body as she shuddered. She hoped they killed it. She hoped the Others had ripped its body apart, and set those cold, cold hands on fire, for no matter how many times she'd raised the match, it would never light.
The water was too much within her, and she could create fire no matter how many times she pleaded to the sea.
The day had passed slowly. The early morning sun had crept behind the sky, and she felt some splotches of its rays shine down on her. It lit her skin, made her look like shining marble amid all the green. As it warmed her to her core, she touched it, her fingers trembling as she felt the beat of her heart underneath her touch, the way her blood rushed in her veins, how her skin was warm, instead of the cool, sleek she remembered and yearned for. He liked to tell her she looked like an angel, dressed in white, her white-gold hair falling in waves around her pale, pale shoulders, her dark gray eyes large in her face.
She thought she looked already dead; fading away before anyone could notice her.
She did not know how long she wandered; only that her legs were shaking, her hands were trembling, and her mind was frantic, dizzy when she made it to the cliff. It was there that she felt that familiar lull. The feeling of warmth and home and hope.
Her eyes were wide in shock. The breath was punched from her lungs. There was a moment when she thought she was dreaming; it twinkled and rushed and shone, and she stared and stared and stared.
Her home. The sea.
The loud, gasping sob had torn itself from her mouth before she could stop it. Her shoulders shook, and she raised her pale hands to clutch at her hair. She wanted to scream. To yell. To cry. To dance for joy at the sight of her home, and yet sob in horror at the fact that she could not join the rhythm of the tides.
Her skin was empty without the pelt. She was naked, like the day she'd been born, so very long, long ago. She was shivering and crying and sobbing, and she felt so terribly wretched; right at the ledge of her home, with the clothes it had dressed her in ripped and torn, eyes desolate as she watched on to what she could not partake.
She thought she heard something move, but she could not tear her eyes from the dark, glittering waters. The call was strong, too strong to look away from. It was in the shimmering warmth of the waves, the lull and fall of the water on itself, the hiss of the tide as it spread itself thin onto land.
She did not see the people. The terror in their faces as she inched closer, closer. She did not even give them nary a thought. She was caught in the spell of her home, unable, un-wanting, to give the feeling of home away.
She was shaking as she took the step.
Their cries did not reach her ears as she stared.
The thoughts in her head were mumbled, broken, flitting to and fro like the few birds she'd seen. She would be one again, she knew, even if the sea did not take her like this; broken, deformed, tortured to a former shadow of herself. She only needed to touch her home again, to feel the water soak into her skin, the weightless, beauty of it all to wrap around her.
She just wanted, needed, to feel it again.
Things were moving behind her; rustling and hurried grunts caused the trees to move and shake and thunder at their presences.
And she beamed, almost cheerful, eyes still caught onto the waves as the sea pulled her down, down, down—
Grasping fingers caught her by the shoulder, but they were too late, and she only twisted to catch their eyes.
Green. She smiled, like the sea.
Her body hit the rocks and a wretched, horrific scream echoed behind her.
Enjoy.
Wasn't sure if I wanted to do a Twilight fic but I said what the hell and decided anyways.