(A/N: this is a translation of something I originally wrote in Italian. It was supposed to be a oneshot, but an outrageously long one, so I'll be splitting it into a few shorter chapters. The lyrics quoted through the text are from the song "Colleen" by Joanna Newsom, which was one inspiration for the story.)

Ondine

1.

I'll tell it as I best know how, and that's the way it was told to me:
I must have been once a thief or a whore, then surely was thrown overboard
where, they say, I came this way from the deep blue sea

it picked me up and tossed me 'round, I lost my shoes and tore my gown
I forgot my name and drowned; then woke up with the surf a-pounding:
it seemed I had been run aground.

—-

The first thing she feels, when she wakes up, is waves. It's a familiar sound, a familiar whisper, and so she feels calmer listening to it, because that sound tells her she's safe and nothing else matters. But after not long it feels as if something is wrong, like an off-key note, and even if she can't understand what her heartbeat hastens a little and breath races a bit in her chest. She's known the sound of the sea her whole life, or so she thinks, but now it's different.

The second thing is cold. That too feels both familiar and foreign: she's certainly been cold before, but the wind on her skin is new and strange. It rolls down her back like an icy caress and she shivers, shutting her eyes tighter.

She dares to open them a few moments later. She blinks a couple times and recognizes the sand, gray and even. She feels it coarse against her cheek, annoying. A hand is resting near her face. She tries moving her fingers and her fingers do move, curling against her palm. She looks at them as if they were some sort of wonder.

Everything is the same still, cold and sand and the sound of the waves so strange and unknown, and she tries propping herself up on her arms a little. The sea is a pale blue stripe crashing quietly against the beach, leaving white splashes of seafoam behind. Looking at it makes her head turn and her stomach crumple, as if she were upside down or the perspective was all wrong, and all of a sudden it occurs to her that she should know how she ended up there or where she came from. When she tries searching her mind for an answer she finds it empty. She can only go back to the moment she woke up, with her face in the sand and the sound of the sea in her ears; there's nothing before that.

Seafoam splashes on her bare feet. She keeps staring at the sea, frowning, listening to the waves and the faraway screeching of seagulls. For a second it feels as if something is about to resurface from the muted shimmering of the sun on the water, like the memory of a dream, but it disappears again before she can grasp it.

"Hey! Are you alright?"

The barging in of a voice in the quiet surrounding her is sudden enough to startle her and send her heart hammering in her temples. She pulls back instinctively, curling up as if she could hide, and she turns to peek through the strands of red hair that the wind blew on her face. She makes out a pair of feet in a pair of heavy boots, tucked up trousers. She lowers her head again, hiding her face in her hands.

"Hey, I don't…" he starts, then stops; between her fingers she sees him crouch. "I don't want to hurt you."

His voice sounds sincere, and she slowly dares to look up again. In front of her is a boy with a messy tangle of black hair and a curious look on his face, that she sees light up a bit when their eyes meet. "Are you alright?" he asks again. "What happened? Did you fall into the sea?"

She silently repeats his words to herself, struggling a little to understand their meaning. They sound strange, as if she had not heard another voice in a very long time. She parts her lips to answer and then stops, not knowing what or how. I woke up here, I can't remember anything else; it's clear in her mind, but it muddles when she tries to translate it into sound and syllables. She gives up and looks down, biting her lip. She tries to sit up and he says "hey" again and quickly looks away, his cheeks flushing red. She looks at herself to realize she's not wearing clothes. She should, she thinks, even if she doesn't quite know why, and instinctively she presses her arms to her body, covering her breasts.

He takes off the cape he's wearing, still not looking, and hands it to her with his eyes glued to the ground. "Here, put this on," he stutters, embarrassed. She hesitates for a moment, then takes it and wraps it tightly around herself. The cloth is warm and she realizes she's trembling, and she curls up a little more, clutching the hem of the cape to keep it from falling.

The boy cautiously looks up again, and cracks a relieved smile. "That's better," he comments, with a clumsy laugh. The lines of his face are sweet, almost like a child's. She wonders if she should be scared of him and decides that she shouldn't. She doesn't think he will hurt her.

"Are you a foreigner maybe?" he asks, frowning. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She nods, but she still isn't sure how to answer and so she doesn't, looking down again. "Oh, well then," he smiles, apparently not bothered by her silence. "I thought I'd have to sign or something! Come, I'll take you to the village. You need clothes and to warm yourself up."

He offers his hand and she stares at it, doubtful. "Come on, I'm not going to hurt you," he laughs. It's a pleasant sound. She takes his hand, holding the cape with the other, and he gently pulls her up.

Her legs are strange, they barely hold her and they feel wobbly when she unbends her knees, as if they were not used to holding the weight of her body; she looks at her feet, so far away, and her head spins. She staggers and he catches her before she can fall, holding her by the waist.

"Are you alright?" he asks, alarmed. "You're not hurt, right?"

She shakes her head even if she's not sure she's alright. The empty space around her feels destabilizing; it feels too much. She feels like she's falling even now that she's steadier on her legs. She grabs his shoulder on impulse.

"Don't worry," he reassures her. His arm is still around her waists, barely touching her, and she dares to loosen her fingers and let go. It's better after a couple steps. Her knees quiver a little, she has to focus to make them work; she pictures the muscles and bones moving under her skin like laborious, complicated machinery. The sand holds the prints of her bare feets and his boots. She turns to look at them; a wave wipes some away.

"I'm Ash, anyway," he says. He smiles. She tries smiling back and he gives her a curious look, obviously expecting an answer. "What's your name?" he asks, when she says nothing.

She can't answer, she doesn't know; she didn't have a name when she woke on the sand. She looks down, wrapping her arms tight around her body.

Ash lets a couple moments pass, then starts talking again: "You'll like the village, everyone's nice. And it's not always so cold! Only this season, but it doesn't last long, only a couple months. It's a lot nicer in the summer, even if you can't really tell right now, hehe. If you'll still be here you'll see for yourself."

She listens, and catches herself smiling again. His hand is resting on her back, almost distractedly, gently guiding her. His face looks serene and cheerful. She thinks he would catch her if her legs were to suddenly stop working, and she feels calm, without really knowing why. The empty space around her unsettles her and makes her feel lost, but his hand on her back is an anchor.

The wind blows her hair in her face. She tries to tidy it with her hand, adjusting it behind her ear.

"It's not far," he's saying. "You should be able to see it from here". He stands on tiptoes to make sure, straightening his neck. He's about as tall as her, maybe, maybe a bit less. "Yeah, there, look," he cries out, pointing at something ahead of them. "You can see a few houses."

She follows his arm with her eyes and sees the slightly-clouded shapes of a few buildings, a group of houses crammed on one another on top of a cliff where the beach ends. Ash says "come" and starts walking again guiding her with him. She feels a different surface under her feet now: when she looks down she sees clumps of pale green grass sprouting from the sand. She suddenly turns back, inexplicably anxious: the sea is farther now, a slimmer stripe. Something in her chest aches.

Ash notices. "Are you alright? What's wrong?" he asks, and she shakes her head, her breath stuck in her throat, to tell him she doesn't know. He places his arm around her back again, as if fearing that she might fall. "Did you see something?"

She shakes her head again. He gives her a dubious look, then shrugs. "Come, then. We're almost there, there's a path."

She follows, but it takes her a while to look away from the sea, and her legs are trembling harder now. After a few steps she turns back again. The sea is farther still.

"What's wrong?" Ash insists. She forces herself to stop looking and turn her eyes to the ground even if her heart is pounding. It hammers in her ears, drowning out even the sound of the waves. Ash tightens his arm around her waist and she leans on him a little, feeling weaker than before. He doesn't let her go. He turns to see what she's looking at, squinting at the shore. After a couple moments he shrugs. "There's nothing," he says, puzzled. She shivers and wraps her arms tight around herself, and she doesn't know how to make him understand that what's unsettling her isn't anything concrete: she feels the sea's absence like a rip, growing larger and more painful with every step.

Ash hesitates a bit longer, then looks at her. "There's nothing to worry about, alright?" he assures her. She nods and he smiles. "You'll see, you'll feel better once you've rested and put something warm on yourself. Oh, and you'll have to eat something, for sure, who knows what you've been through before you ended up here! Come."

He holds out a hand and she closes hers around it, slowly. Ash smiles again.

"Maybe you were on a ship that sank?" he tries to guess as they walk. She looks at her feet. He looks at her curiously: "No?" he tries again, and then, when she still doesn't answer: "You don't remember?"

She looks up and nods. He frowns a little. "Oh," he says, surprised. Then shrugs. "You'll remember, don't worry. If your ship really sank you're lucky to be alive. The sea is dangerous."

He's serious as he says that. He looks ahead and tightens his lips in a thin line. When he notices she's looking though he quickly folds them back into a smile.

She can see the village better now. The buildings are small, made of stone and wood; here and there threads of smoke spring from the chimneys. She hears voices, too, and she wonders if from the village she'll be able to hear the sea. Maybe she will.

Ash guides her along a dirt path. She stumbles a little to follow; his cape keeps trying to slip away even if she holds it tight and she keeps tripping on the edge. She's starting to really tremble, now, too; the wind lashes at her bare shoulders and the ground is cold under her bare feet. The wind also brings more voices from the streets and she slows down, nervous. Ash finds himself tugging at her hand. He stops, turning to look at her.

"This path doesn't lead to the main street," he says, guessing her thoughts. "There won't be many people. Don't worry."

He's right, even if she keeps falling behind and stopping and being startled by everything. The village is both loud and quiet. The noises bounce from wall to wall, muted: the racket of the wheels of a cart, the hee-haws of some animal, someone calling "fresh fish, ladies, just out of the sea!". Colorful cloths hang from a thread, swelling in the wind like flags or sails. She looks in astonishment, her nose up in the air, and Ash laughs and gently tugs at her hand. "It's just laundry," he says, making her turn to a narrow alley between two houses; "Come". She nods and hurries a little. She closes her eyes for a moment, without stopping: she can still hear the waves, however faint.

The rectangle of sky between roofs, the ground paved in round stones making it harder to walk, the terrible screeching of a flock of seagulls gliding above them, the stone arch they walk through, ending up in a small round space; the effort to take note of so many details at a time makes her head spin. Somewhere behind them there's a sudden clack, maybe a window opening, and she jumps and clings to his arm. The fish-seller keeps shouting, closer: come, ladies, come quick! All around are female voices. Ash tightens his hand around hers.

He stops after another turn. In front of them is a small patch of land, dark and mostly barren; at its center a woman is crouching to water a row of green springs, brown hair tied behind her head with a ribbon.

She holds her breath at the bottom of her chest and stops, pulling Ash's cape tighter around herself. He waves an arm in the air to call: "Mother!", and the woman turns back, surprised. She notices her after a moment. She blinks, then sets the bucket down and stands, quickly dusting some dirt from her dress, and heads fast towards them. Instinctively she takes half a step back.

Ash turns to her. "Don't worry," he tries to reassure her. "It's my mother. There's nothing to fear."

The woman reaches them. "What…?" she starts, and she feels her eyes staring and quickly lowers hers, sinking her teeth into her lip. "Honey, what happened? Who's this girl?"

"I don't know, I found her on the beach," Ash says. "She must have survived a shipwreck or something, I think."

"Oh, goodness," the woman cries out. She draws closes and places a hand on her cheek, and she jumps a little and then relaxes: her touch is gentle, warm. "Don't worry, dear. You're safe here, don't be scared."

Her voice is gentle too, like a pleasant vibration on her skin. She dares to look up and the woman smiles, stroking her cheek. Her smile resembles Ash's. "I'm Delia," she says. She nods her head towards him: "And he's my son, Ash, but I suppose you're already acquainted with him."

She nods, cracking the tiniest smile. Delia answers with a beaming one and places her hands on her shoulders, rubbing them a little to warm her up. "We need to find you clothes. Maybe there's something of mine that can fit you. They'll be a little big… I can fix a couple of them for you, it won't take long, but at least you'll be warm in the meantime. Come."

She begins to lead them somewhere, then stops and turns back. "Ash, honey, shouldn't you be down at the harbor? Brock is probably waiting for you."

He puffs his cheeks. "Yeah, but…"

"I'll take care of this," his mother gently assures him. "Go, don't make him wait any longer."

"Alright," he gives up. He turns to look at her and waves a small goodbye. "I have to go, see you later!" he says, and suddenly she feels a little lost again and holds her hand up in the air as if to grab his arm and stop him. He lingers for a moment, frowning a bit, then smiles. "You're in good hands, don't worry! You'll be fine," he promises. "I really have to go. I'll see you when I come back!"

He turns and runs away. She tries to whisper a "thank you", but it comes out in a breath so small that Ash doesn't hear her and doesn't stop. She almost doesn't hear it herself. He's gone before she can try again, and she keeps looking in that direction for a few seconds before lowering her eyes.

Delia keeps her hands on her shoulders and stoops down a little, to be at her height. "So, dear, what happened?" she asks.

She hesitates, looking down still, then parts her lips and tries speaking again: "I can't remember," she whispers. Her voice is strange, hoarse, like she forgot how to use it. It sounds also new, as if it weren't the same voice she had before, or maybe the same, but different somehow. "I can't remember anything."

Delia frowns a little, then smiles again. "We'll think about it later," she says. She still hears the sea, far away. "Now let's find something for you to wear. Come with me."

—-

She feels uneasy in the clothes Delia found for her. The too-long skirt hampers her, the corset makes it harder to breathe, the shoes are heavy on her feet: it feels as if she's balancing on a thread, away from the ground. The cloth weighs on her skin, annoying more than pleasant and warm.

Delia brushes her hair, tidying it. It's shoulder-length and straight, a bright orange. "You have beautiful hair," she comments gently. She stops and walks around her, placing a hand on her face to make her look up. "And beautiful eyes."

She smiles a little, embarrassed, looking back at the floor. Delia sets the brush down.

"I don't even know your name," she says, and she clasps the cloth of her skirt in her fists.

"I don't know," she whispers. The sound of her voice surprises her again, like she never heard it before. "I can't remember."

"You don't remember anything at all?" Delia marvels. When she doesn't answer she gently places her hands on her cheeks. "I'm sure it's just a matter of time," she tells her. With a caress she rearranges a rebel strand of hair that keeps falling on her forehead. "You'll remember everything. God only knows what you've been through. Maybe it's for the best that you don't remember it now."

"I woke up on the beach," she says. "Ash found me and brought me here. It's all I know."

"It's enough for now," Delia assures her. "Let's take care of you first. Are you hungry?"

She blinks, a bit surprised, because she hadn't been thinking about it but now her stomach suddenly cramps up. "Maybe," she admits. "A little."

Delia smiles. "Come," she says, and guides her from the bedroom to the kitchen. The house is small, with rooms barely big enough to move, but it feels welcoming and it smell good. She breathes in slowly, filling her chest: it's the smell of a home, she thinks, even if she doesn't remember any home of her own. The kitchen is tiny and bright, full of the quiet grumbling of a pot on the stove. Delia nods towards the table and says "sit", hurrying to place a bowl and a spoon in front of her.

"You're very kind," she tells her. She sits, careful not to step on her skirt or crease it under the legs of her chair. The woman answers with a smile, then turns to busy herself around the pot: she stirs whatever is inside with a wooden spoon, tastes some with a focused frown, adds a pinch of something from a jar. The smell coming from it makes her stomach twist harder.

She looks around as she waits. The kitchen is both tidy and in a chaos: pots, bowls and jars full of spices or who-knows-whats fill every available surface. The light coming from the window draws pale rectangles on the wood of the table. Dust seems to dance in the gleam, and she tries to touch it, and is surprised to find that she can't.

"You can stay, if you want," Delia says, distracting her and startling her a little. "I suppose you have nowhere else to go". She takes her bowl to fill it and places it back in front of her. "Here."

"I don't want to cause you trouble," she replies. She grasps the spoon and looks at it for a moment, not quite sure what to do with it at first.

"It would be no trouble at all," Delia assures her. "When Ash is out at sea I'm always alone. Having some company would be nice."

"You really are very kind," she repeats. She tries the soup in her bowl. "And this tastes very good."

"I'm happy you think so," the woman smiles. She walks back to the stove as she keeps eating. After a while she turns and looks at her for a handful of seconds: "You need a name," she says.

She looks up. "Huh?"

"If you're going to stay here, you'll need a name. Until you remember yours, I mean". She thinks about it for a moment, raising a finger to her lips. Then her eyes light up: "How about Ondine? Ondines are water creatures… you came from the sea, and your eyes have its color. Do you like it?"

"It's a beautiful name," she comments, smiling. She finishes her soup and sets the spoon down in the bowl. She feels better, now. "I'm really thankful for what you're doing for me."

"No need to thank me," the woman says. "Do you want some more?"

Ondine, repeating her new name to herself, shakes her head. "I'm good, thank you," she assures her. She looks down briefly, tightening a hand around the edge of the table. "I'd like to thank Ash too. If he hadn't found me I'd probably still be on the beach. Do you know where I could find him?"

"He's probably out at sea now," Delia tells her. "He'll be back in a few hours. I can take you to the harbor, if you want to wait for him there."

"I'd like that," she nods. "If— if you don't mind."

"I don't mind". Delia leaves her bowl and her spoon in the sink, then walks to the door, smiling still. "Come."