nightsinger (currently updating)

01 - compass

IRIS DREAMS OF THE OCEAN. Her body is made mostly of water, so it is only right that she returns back to the sea when she falls asleep, her mind quiet as it searches and finds what it's looking for. She seeks for memories but does not bring them back to her shore.

When she was twenty, Iris Monroe remembers stepping onto a yacht owned by a rich classmate in college that loved trouble. She remembers that the weather was serene, a breeze whistling past her hair as the waves were completely still: a painting of subdued blueness. When they asked her if she wanted to go for a late night ride, she felt oddly drawn to the shores, something inside of her desperate to escape land and exchange it for an open sea. And it was college. They had nothing better to do except cause a ruckus.

What she did not expect, however, was the maliciousness in their smiles, the way his teeth bent crooked when he bit off the beer cap, spit it overboard, and chugged it so it leaked out of the corner of his mouth and dripped down onto the sleek planks. The foam made him appear almost mad, crazed. It slung down and curved round his chin. Iris doesn't even remember his name anymore. Only that he was brutal and he is now dead, his body lost at sea and half-nibbled by the animals that live beneath the tides.

That night, someone threw down a large, spiked fishing net into the ocean and Iris had felt the cold knot of fear squeezing into her throat as she protested. Panic gripped her breath with an iron fist, held her down just to see her thrash.

"What the hell are you doing?" Iris had yelled, shoving her two arms in front of her and making her way to the boy shoving it down. His brown hair was dry and muted in color, eyes a matching shade of nothingness. Its movement reminded her of shriveled hay and suede.

His grin had been greasy. "It's fucking mating season," he'd said, pointing to the flash of large turtle shells floating atop of the water. Beautiful and ancient and not theirs to take. "And we're curious. Did you know that turtles make sounds when you slice their shells off?"

Growing up, Iris's grandmother told her that the sea lives and breathes and remembers. Her waters recycle and give life. The sea protects what is hers and gives humans what they need in hopes that they will take nothing beyond their fill.

This was not the case.

Iris cursed underneath her breath, moving to grip his wrist with one hand, putting as much strength she had in her body. "Stop," she'd said harshly. "You're drunk. Let them be."

"Or what, ocean girl?" he'd asked, swaggering over to her and his booze-filled breath warming her face. "What are you going to do? Drown me? This—" he gestures to the darkness around the, listening to the sound of waves sloshing against the side of the yacht. "It's all ours. It's fucking ours, yeah?"

With a glare, Iris dug her nails in his wrist so that the net dropped and he let out a hiss. The turtle that was captured swam away, faster than she'd ever seen one escape before, and it made her heart drop inside her chest. She hoped it swam where nothing could ever harm it again.

"Just—don't cast the net again. All you're doing is stirring up trouble that you can't handle," Iris snapped. "Your rich daddy can't save you when you're drowning."

The sea seeks revenge, her grandmother had said as she braided Iris's hair. Your eyes are blue because you find yourself in her coves, but she watches out for your soul. Do not forget that all humans return back to the water.

"You look creepy as shit with your white hair, you know that? Stop scaring away the fish, Iris. Have a little fun." He held out a beer, shaking it in front of her. "And don't worry. We already caught enough of them earlier in the day."

Iris had felt her eyes widen in sheer panic as the boy pointed to underneath the boat. "How do you think we can afford a boat like this? Do you know how much these animals go for in the black market? Underground auctions for marine life—I'll take you sometime."