The Triton

Chapter 11: Vivien

A sea turtle swam past. It was enormous, far bigger than anything I'd seen, lazy and unbothered. Its patterned myriads of browns and white caught the light brightly, almost glowing. It meandered past before slowly arcing away. I could've sworn it waved, passing by the window. A second huge sea turtle appeared, following its friend.

A fun dream, sure.

I quickly understood. This was the moment of lucidity, where you realize it's a dream, and then your alarm goes off, some other sound wakes you, or you open your eyes.

Any second now.

I blinked once, then twice, shaking the sleep from my eyes. But the sea turtle was still there. Some grogginess evaporated in a wild shifting of memories. The surfer. Tridents. Magic.

Specter.

I rocketed upright, forcibly trying to press the sleep from my face. A mistake. My body groaned in protest, my brain seizing in agony. I lay back down, exhaling through the lingering pain, though my eyes still traced the room around me.

There was no water here. The room was dry, as normal as any room I'd ever been in.

Everywhere I looked, there was more to input, more to blink and double take over. Beneath me was a soft, too-big mattress, silks draped over the four-poster bed. Each rod was made of some bright blue stone I didn't recognize, intricately carved with small figures and a feminine merfolk form I didn't recognize.

The bed sat squarely in the center of the most opulent room I'd ever seen. Arches of gold framed a painted ceiling, intricately detailed, painted stories weaving together, all depicting the same female figure. The walls were exquisitely clean marble, separated by intricately carved pillars. A consistent spacing of bright yellow-colored stones poured a soft, warm light into the room, light that swelled as I sat upright, as if they, too, had been sleeping.

If this was heaven, I hoped I wouldn't be in pain for all eternity.

Towering double doors guarded the entrance of the room to my right, detailed in stunning gold filigree.

A fireplace crackled. Underwater. I genuinely laughed at that, its sheer idiocracy suddenly hilarious. The laughter hurt, and I quickly Its heat pooled into the room, warm but not overbearing.

I thought I'd been derobed at some point. My two-piece and lifeguard shirt had been replaced with the softest white nightgown that clung against my form tenderly. I felt its softness between my thumb and forefinger. It was far softer than anything I'd ever worn.

The thought turned my stomach. Maybe that was the pain.

Two other doors stood ajar, revealing rooms too darkly lit to see their interiors.

I was in someone else's bedroom. In someone else's silk nightgown. In a building. Underwater. Half-broken and weak.

I decided I wouldn't meet any more rocks, not that way at least.

A giggle pooled in my gut, a tease of a laugh that quickly multiplied, and soon I was cackling, howling, fingernails gripping into my kneecap as I tried and horribly failed to restrain the hilarity.

My shoulders shook, grinning ear to ear, eyes squinting. Tears even welled before rolling down my cheek, from the pain of movement alongside the seemingly never-ending laughter slowly began to fade.

Beneath the laughter surfaced a curling cycle of unease, one that seemed fit to take off its coat and stay awhile. Questions only added to the loop, unease turning to a stress that pulled at my temples. I bit my cheek.

I pulled myself from the center of the bed, ignoring the blinding pain in my head and back, feet finding purchase on the carpeted floors, soft.

As I waited for the pain to ebb, I found myself...missing home. I'd never missed home, ever.