They were transparent. I could see through them in the same way I could see through the sea where it licked the shore. All the sand and stones and little round shells at the bottom were visible, rolling with the waves. They were not hidden, but exposed to the eyes of the world without hesitation. They had no ulterior motives; to be ulterior, they would have needed to be concealed, not left sparkling in the sun.
I heard the way they talked of you. I knew what they wanted to do to you. Your appearance at the pools meant that they were finally free. Their sins were forgiven and their lives were their own again. No longer did they have to mind themselves or bow and scrape and be kind. They could be whoever they wished to be, because they thought you were a godsend.
They wanted to place you on a pedestal. They wanted to take my starfish away, to make you untouchable and glorious and golden, all at a distance. Some even wanted you to lead the Clan. You were, to them, a creature of omens and fortune.
And I was not.
I realized too late what saving you meant. I realized too late that lying about your divinity sealed my fate. Your presence granted them the pardon they had been waiting for all their lives. It gave them the excuse they needed.
They no longer needed me, now that they were no longer cursed by their own wrongdoings. They could start their foul cycle all over again. And they did, in a flurry of fur, of fangs, of bitter red blood splashed out on the sands.
I felt the shallows lap at my sides as I bled. Oh, how transparent they were.