Below
Below; extending underneath.
The longer you stay, the heavier the water feels. You don't need to breathe , but you now know the meaning of drowning.
You can almost hear her in her element. The waters speak. They talk of the old days and long imprisonment, being used and discarded, and the crushing loneliness.
The loneliness is crushing, and you feel absurdly graceful that she is here. Or is that how she feels about you. You hate each other, and fight viciously ,but also need each other .
You try to project your own identity sometimes. You think about the war and old comrades. You think about the brutal end it came to. You think about Peridot, your somewhat friend. Other days you fixate on your anger for Rose Quartz, deciding if she can make you feel loneliness, you can make her hate the one who killed your leader. You have time here.
There is nothing but time and fight here.
Though even fight is getting harder. More and more, you both move away from individuality. Mentally, you are both calling yourselves us, and Malachite. The chains feel like they connect you. You feel her shaking through them, as she feels your struggles. Sometimes you both meet half submerged and sit back to back. Other times you fight. Once you even danced.
You both have core components that stick. You have survival, and she has a wish to run.
You can use that , if you play it right.
She always gets upset whenever you attempt manipulation.
Her anger is deep like this ocean, but you can match it.
This fusion is painful, but its reached the kind of pain that lies between pain and pleasure, or perhaps healing pain.
It's hard to conceive leaving Malachite, impossible to imagine a life without the ability to control water, or fly, yet you still fight.
It's more survival instinct mixed with spite than anything.
Sometimes you wonder what your own body would feel like. Without her chains that connect us, that you can feel her movements through, without her in your life, your other half of Malachite.
It doesn't feel like a life you could be content with anymore. There's no ocean, nor pain and power, and no her, who you know almost as well as yourself, in all of her moods.
She betrayed you. If she hadn't , the battle would have ended quickly, and both of you would walk away. Would knowing what it was like to be Malachite for a brief moment be better than knowing yourselves like this. Then changing, rough edges smoothed by the sea, into something like this...
You keep struggling. One day you won't.