Selkies bleed red.
Perhaps this discovery should not have shocked Ochako, and yet the fact remained that it did. She thought that, maybe, they might bleed some fantastical color–green or even gold. Her assumptions were wrong.
Selkies' blood was as red as hers, or any human's, was; she could see the evidence quite clearly as it dripped onto the parlor rug.
Tomura gripped his shoulder where he had been struck with the bullet from her father's pistol. The bleeding was fast, and a great ugly stain spread down his shirt. Dabi and Magne had rushed forward after the shot had rang out, and were now helping him sit up from where he had fallen to the floor.
The rest of the crew that had been standing tensely in the foyer had scattered around the room. Himiko had raced over to Ochako. Izuku had crossed the room to Ochako's father and had liberated the pistol from him. Spinner and Jin were standing by Ochako's mother in case she tried anything, and Eri and Tsu were nowhere to be seen.
"Oh my god," Ochako said. She had begun to shake. The sound of the pistol firing in such close quarters had left her ears ringing, and the smell of Tomura's blood made her feel sick. "Oh my god."
"I–" Her father began, but Ochako cut him off before he could continue.
"Why would you do that? How could you do that?: fire a pistol at someone who meant you no harm?"
Her father's eyes flashed, and his expression hardened.
"At your age, you would not understand. He is a selkie, Ochako. Selkies are dangerous."
"Bullshit," Ochako muttered. "HE WAS TRYING TO LEAVE! They all were! You were just too stubborn and scared to see it!"
"Don't you talk to me that way. I am your father."
"You just shot someone," Ochako repeated. Her voice had gone soft and shaky, almost like she was going to cry. "in cold blood."
"As I said before: You are under their spell. That is the only reason that you feel any sort of empathy for that thing. Once we get him to break the spell–"
"How many times do we have to tell you? THE NECKLACE IS NOT A SPELL!" Ochako felt Himiko grab for her hand but she shook it away. If she held someone's hand now, she would surely break down and cry. She had to remain strong to get her point across. "For your information, the necklace happens to be a courting gift."
"From whom?" Her mother asked. Both Spinner and Jin looked at her warily.
Ochako looked back at Himiko and gestured for her to stand directly beside Ochako.
"From Himiko. She presented me with a courting gift," Ochako said. The shaking had gotten worse as she watched both of her parents' faces sour further. "and I have accepted."
"Darling," Her mother crooned at her. She sounded soft, though her face still looked pinched. "You should have told us this!" Ochako felt her heart lift for the first time during this whole ordeal. You should have told us that you two were courting! She imagined her mother would say. They–her mother and father both–would apologize, call for a doctor for Tomura's shoulder, and then they would all sit down and converse over some tea. "There are plenty of other pretty human girls in the village! We could have arranged for something: for one to come over for a picnic of some sort while we talked with her parents! There's no need for you to settle for something inhuman."
And just like that, Ochako's optimism was shattered.
She absolutely could not believe what had happened thus far today. Looking back at her childhood, she could not reconcile the loving, considerate, easy-going parents that she knew with the cruel, hate-filled people that stood before her now. It hurt her deeply to know that they would turn so quickly against someone. The thought made her nauseous.
"I believe Tomura was right," Ochako said. "We are leaving."
"What?" Both her mother and father attempted to walk to her, but Izuku, Spinner, and Jin held them back.
"Tomura needs medical attention, and I no longer wish to stay." Ochako turned and walked towards the door, and everyone followed suit, Dabi and Magne supporting Tomura as they followed. Before Ochako could cross over the threshold onto the lawn, she turned back around in the doorway to get one last look at her parents. They were looking at her with sorrow and anger and something that looked similar to confusion, as if they, too, could not recognise the person that their daughter had become.
She looked around at the parlor: the destroyed furniture, the askew pictures on the walls, the mantelpiece. She noticed that of the clothespin dolls that rested on the mantelpiece–the ones that she and her mother had made together when she was about five–one of them was missing. The one that represented Ochako herself was no longer residing with the dolls that represented her parents.
How fitting, she thought to herself, as she shut the door to her childhood home.