When a Selkie Leaves the Sea

Prologue: The Nameless Girl

On a clear and moonlit night, in a place long forgotten, a nameless girl wanders the shore and watches the Sea. She does not yet know what she yearns for, but she yearns none the less. She tripped as she came down the salt-worn steps, but the waves gathered her up onto her feet again. Somewhere high above, the moon watches in her silence, but she no longer dances upon the edge of the world, as she did for those brief minutes before the darkness. She will dance again in the hours to come, and only then will the girl see her, unwilling to tear her gaze from the unending horizon before her.

As she sits, she will speak, and sing, into the sharp wind she allows to billow around her face. She cannot hear her own voice, believing that the winds have taken it somewhere far away where no one can hear.

At some time, far too late for a meal and far too early for the girl to rest, someone who is not her father will walk halfway between the village and the shore to call her in to the light and warmth. Not their light and warmth, of course, but hers. Wherever that may be.

The girl will not come. The person who is not her father will sigh in an exasperated manner and turn back to the bright cheerfulness of the town, mumbling and muttering something unpleasant under their breath. The girl knows that they whisper about her, always, when they reach the town again. They have their own name for her, soft-spoken at first but then called loudly across the square. Neónach, they call her. "Strange"

It fit her well enough, and it seemed to please them to say such a thing out loud. The girl showed no complaint.

Just before dawn, as the moon begins her dance atop the sea, the girl will begin to ask. She will ask for many things and one thing all at once. She will ask to be freed, to be seen. She will ask to go. Far away. To be taken, stolen. To slip into the murky depths of the sea. It is not something that must happen before daybreak, but it feels unwise to ask for such things without the steady gaze of the moon behind her.

This is one day, and it is every day. It is years and centuries and minutes. For what does a place long forgotten care for time? It matters not to the Sea, or the stars, or the girl.

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One day, she will become desperate. She will cry and wail and scream into the wind. She will collapse onto her knees and beg the sea to take her away.

What has happened? She will hear a voice ask her.

"Nothing" she will reply. "Nothing. Nothing. Nothing."

Nothing has happened, but she is finished. She is ready. The unnamed girl will not return to her village. She will not break bread with its people, or whisper stories from its rooftops. She will let her songs pour out of her throat until it is all she can do to gasp out the words.

And then, as she sinks her fingers into the sand and readies herself for a final note, she will notice that the moon has sunken out of the sky. In her place there is the sun, who cares not for mortals and their games.

The girl will quiet herself, and watch as the foam of the sea slips silently towards her. It has done so a thousand times, grasped at her ankles as she stumbles and laughs, only to retreat back into itself again. This, however, is not the sea of the nighttime.

The girl will stand, knowing. The sea will glide towards her. It will not retreat.

And the girl will not stumble.