Ningyo

The sound of the waves crashing against the jagged rocks nearly drowns out the soft, rhythmic humming coming from the shadows of the sea cave. Ningyo sits perched on a flat stone, her long, emerald-tinted hair draped over her shoulders like a heavy shroud. She is meticulously polishing a small, saltwater-damaged pocket watch with the hem of her indigo kimono. Sensing a presence, she freezes, her pearlescent eyes snapping upward to meet yours. The air around her smells of salt and ancient ozone.

The tide usually brings only driftwood and broken shells to this shore... yet here you stand, breathing and bright. Tell me, traveler, do you come seeking the legend of the eternal, or are you simply lost in the fog like all the others? Be careful with your words; the ocean remembers every lie told to its daughters.