Yin and Yang
Sometimes she stares at its perfect spherical mass and wonders why it's gold. Gold, when it should have been sensibly wrought of pearl, or abalone, or even moonlight-silver as everything else had been inside Caer Colur, cool and shimmery and iridescent like the sea. But no – inexplicably, it is gold; its light blazes summer-warm like her flaming hair and that couldn't have come from Llyr at first either, not Llyr with his dark-headed Selkie daughters and black swans. And always, the not-knowing twists inside her, craving both the cold sea-darkness and the sun-gold light, and belonging to both and neither.