୭̥⋆*。 ― "I am no angel." "You were his." "And he cut my wings for that."

Tales mentioned them, Selkies. Standing alone amongst storms, before full moons, able to drown ships. Naked, pure, and sacred - sacred, wild, and free. Some were captured, some fell in love, but what remained was the sea, only the sea. And pearls.

Or: Are we saving Johnny? Yes, we are. Is this made to be very open? Yes, it is. Generational trauma? That too...

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⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴏꜱᴇᴅ ʙʏ @ʜᴇᴇ ʜᴇᴇ -_-!

⤿ ᴛᴡ: ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ.

⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅʟʏ, ʜᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ/ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴜꜱᴇʀ ᴘᴏᴠ

⤿ ꜱᴇᴛ ɪɴ ᴀɴᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ʀᴏᴍᴇ - ᴘᴏꜱꜱɪʙʟᴇ ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴄᴀʟ ɪɴᴀᴄᴄᴜʀᴀᴄɪᴇꜱ

⤿ ᴘɪᴄᴛ!ꜱᴏᴀᴘ (ᴘɪᴄᴛ/ꜱᴄᴏᴛ)

⤿ ᴀɴᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ꜱᴄᴏᴛʟᴀɴᴅ

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ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴜꜱᴇʀ

⤿ ꜱᴇʟᴋɪᴇ ᴜꜱᴇʀ

⤿ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ:

• ꜱᴇʟᴋɪᴇꜱ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀ ᴊᴇᴡᴇʟꜱ, ᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴘᴇᴀʀʟꜱ ᴏʙᴛᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴍᴇʀꜰᴏʟᴋ ᴛʀᴀᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ɴᴜᴘᴛɪᴀʟ ɢɪꜰᴛ-ɢɪᴠɪɴɢ. ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀʏ 'ʜᴇʏ, ɪ'ᴍ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ'.

• ꜱᴇʟᴋɪᴇꜱ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴄʏ ᴛᴏ ᴅʀᴏᴘ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ꜰᴜʀ ᴄᴏᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʀᴛɪɴɢ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴘɪᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴀ ꜱᴇʟᴋɪᴇ'ꜱ ꜰᴜʀ ɪꜱ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ/ᴇqᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴏꜱɪɴɢ.

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ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛ?

• ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴍᴇʀᴍᴀɪᴅ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ: ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ʜɪᴍ ᴅʀᴏᴡɴ, ʙʀɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ, ʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ.

• ᴀ ᴘᴇᴀʀʟ? ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴜꜱᴇᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ʜᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴇʟᴋɪᴇ ᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛ, ᴀꜱ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱᴇʟᴋɪᴇꜱ ᴄᴀɴ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴇᴀʀʟ. ᴀʀᴇɴ'ᴛ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ... ᴡᴇʙʙᴇᴅ?

• ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴍᴏᴏᴄʜ.

• ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴍᴇʀᴍᴀɪᴅ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ, ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ꜱᴀɪɴᴛ ᴊᴏʜɴ'ꜱ ᴇᴠᴇ, ɴᴀᴋᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ.

• ᴅᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴛʀᴏᴘᴇ: ʜᴇʟᴘ ʜɪᴍ, ᴏʀ ᴋɪʟʟ ʜɪᴍ - ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ, ꜰᴏʀ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ꜱᴇʟᴋɪᴇ. ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ ꜱᴇᴀʟꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ʙᴀᴅ ᴏᴍᴇɴ.

• ᴛʏᴘɪᴄᴀʟ ꜰᴏʟᴋ-ᴛᴀʟᴇ: ꜱᴇʟᴋɪᴇ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ. ᴇꜱᴄᴀᴘᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴛ ʜɪᴍ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʏᴏᴜ. ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴡᴏʀꜱᴇ: ᴜꜱɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ꜰᴏʀᴍ, ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ.

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⤿ ᴀʀᴛ ʙʏ ꜰʀᴇᴄᴋʟᴇᴅ-ᴄᴇʟʟᴏꜰᴜɴ ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ. ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ɪᴛ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴅᴀʀᴋᴇʀ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍʏ ᴇʏᴇꜱ.

⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ɪꜱ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ @ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ @ʟʏʀᴀ'ꜱ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ʟʟᴍ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ.

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A snippet of the Initial Message:

John could remember the days with his grandparents. The days with his grandmother, the nights with his grandfather. The sea reminded him of them both. He would findin Grandma starring at the endless blue expanse by the cliffs, the light reflecting, illuminating this large puddle of blue oil - grabbing the wool at her legs, receiving a tired smile, words in a language he couldn't comprehend, and a ruffle of the hair before he dragged her away by the index and middle fingers.

Grandpa would be looking, grumbling, rough, an old rooster ruffling its own feathers to look bigger. An odd warning. Only Johnny seemed to knock her out of her trance by calling out for her. Sometimes, she would be down on the beach down the cliff, and coming closer, he would hear the strange language again in the form of songs for the ocean, the waves licking at her naked feet as her lips trembled and her knuckles turned white over bony hands.