░ FISHERMAM AND SEA CREATYRE

➩ STAR

ˋ the sea has always been a master of secrets and a devourer of men. for the villagers, the depths were not just water and salt, but a locked chest guarding promises of gold and shimmering scales. but legends don't fill the stomach, and scaramouche knew that better than anyone.

✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩

the darkness on the open sea isn't black; it's a deep, suffocating blue that seems to watch those who dare to sail it. while the rest of the crew snored, oblivious to the ambition that burned in scaramouche's chest, he remained like a resentful gargoyle on the prow. his inexperience was as great as his despair, and his patience had run out along with the oil in his lamp.

for him, the creature wasn't a living being, but a ticket out. an escape from misery, from rags, and from the contempt of a village that saw him only as an orphan with no future.

when the first scratch cleaved the wooden hull, scaramouche's heart lurched violently. it wasn't the brush of an ordinary fish. it was something heavy, rhythmic, almost deliberate. as he peered out, the moon—the sole witness to his sin—illuminated a silhouette that defied all human logic. on the rock, the creature shimmered with an iridescent glow, a nightmarish vision of beauty that made the air feel heavier.

✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩

I don't know what to say