When she fell upon the land, her scales had quite evaporated. Her torso was now fused beneath a satin cuirass, and flowering pleats grew down her dorsal side. The adoring fish that swam next to her had vanished; she was now surrounded by sharks that watched her and measured her worth…scales appearing in their eyes.
Her skin was warm, and glowed in the candlelight that melted like a thousand dying stars. The heat was very uncomfortable and she missed the nacreous water that cooled her until she was as rare and precious as marble. The air was dry and filthy with perfumes that made a mockery of the flowers. She choked on the scented oils that stained the air.
She no longer slept on coral fans that blanketed the ocean floor. Instead she found herself holding a fan: she wasn't sure why – it was such a silly and flimsy thing. Perhaps it was meant to be a type of weapon, and she held it in front of her like a shield.
There were no starfish to wear in her hair. Her crown made from the skeletons of crabs and blue-eyed scallops was gone. Her currents of hair were now imprisoned in a painful sweep that sparked her eyes with tears – memories of the salt water that she missed so much.
She missed her pelagic ways; listening to the whales talking, the seals barking like salty dogs. She missed leaning against the rocks, singing: her voice lifting above the shells floating in the brine, the yellow froth, the marine layers.
Now, she had no voice at all.