SEA, SWALLOW ME, remus lupin

seachd deug, the lion roars

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
the lion roars

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  COVE STARES INTO THE MIRROR.

  As expected, her own reflection stares back. Her cockle shell necklace rests in between her collarbones, the beads and pearls threaded around the chain thrumming with pure selkie magic. For the party, she had picked out a floaty white dress that skims her ankles and tied a pale blue wrap top over it for protection against the cold, sporting her usual silver jewellery as well as a dash of forget-me-not blue eyeshadow. Her anklet is on display, clay beads and sea glass the colour of cornflowers, exposed by the flats she picked out from the back of her wardrobe. It matches with a green one that Cordelia has, the mere sight of it feeling like a sharpened harpoon to her heart. She wonders if she should tide-message her soon to apologise for running away the other night, pushing that guilt to the back of her mind for the time being.

  Absentmindedly, Cove brings her hand up to trace the contours of her face; the slope of her nose, the freckles smattering her rosy cheeks, the faint bags under her eyes. She reaches up to push her hair back from the edge of her forehead to dance her fingers around the thin, silver scar she'd been afflicted with when she got caught in a sharp patch of coral a few years ago. She closes her eyes to relish in shutting out her own reflection, even if it only lasts a few seconds. Looking at it only serves as a grim reminder that she'll never be human, not completely. She can't stand the sight of herself sometimes.

Fallon appears at her elbow, hair in ringlets from the tight plaits they had been in for the match. She has on a dress the colour of tangerines, bell sleeved and paisley patterned, with chunky orange boots on her feet to match. Cherry lipgloss stains her full lips, eyebrow raised as she takes in Cove's demeanour.

"Can you do my eyes, Vee?" she asks, waving a makeup brush back and forth in her hand.

Cove hums, tearing herself away from the mirror to search for her palette. She gestures for Fallon to make herself comfortable on the edge of her bed whilst she scrambles around the room, eventually finding it stranded on Hattie Fawley's bedside. (They need to have an intervention about her kleptomania sometime soon. Every girl in the dorm keeps losing various products and jewellery to her.) She peppers eyeshadow that looks like faery dust onto her lids, holding Fallon's head in place so that she can crack on with the eyeliner.

  "What's on your mind?" Fallon wonders aloud. "And don't say nothing. You're in that weird way you get when something's up."

  She thinks about her answer very carefully, finishing off a swooping wing. "I got into an argument with my friend from back home when we were, um, talking through the fireplace the other night. I just feel dreadful whenever we fight. It makes me so guilty."

Fallon hums. "What was the fight about?"

Cove pauses. "A boy."

  "Seriously?" she gasps. "Oh, Cove."

  "I know, I know. It's really daft. I need to make up with her at some point soon."

"Yes, you do," Fallon insists. "What's my only rule?"

"Don't fall out with friends over boys," Cove choruses. "But, to be fair—"