Those who were taken...
They never came back, dragged beneath the waves never to return.
Their haunting screams were a symbol of their horrific deaths.
Like shadows they lay in wait, the deep blue waters hiding them from view.
With sharp claws they...
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~•~
Y'all I should totally write something scary and thrilling.
Atlas didn't know his actions were frowned upon. He had lived his entire lifetime observing. He had no intention other than to continue those actions he had practiced so many times before. How should he know staring at someone whilst they slept was uncouth behavior?
He stares at the young woman with renewed interest. Little sounds escaped her lips when she breathed; deep, obnoxious sounds. Yet, in a way, he found amusement in them. The laboured noises could only be likened to a large, rotund man, not the petite little blonde woman.
He almost felt his lips twist up just the slightest.
Her lips are parted, teeth barely visible. Her limbs are still, relaxed more than he has ever seen them. A few strands of blonde hair lay together over the bridge of her nose. He follows the lock of hair with his eyes, down the apple of her cheek, across her jaw, descending the column of her neck, the ends brushing gently against her clavicle.
Her chest rises and falls steadily with each of her heavy breaths, ribs visibly expanding beneath her skin. His eyes don't miss the way her blue clothing has shifted crookedly over her skin. The newly exposed skin reveals a thin line of discolored flesh, or rather, lacking color at all. The new skin is pale, much more pale than the rest of her body, a visible line of darker skin signifying where the blue fabric usually lays
He gingerly reaches a hand forward, fingertips ghosting so lightly across her strangely colored flesh it could have been mistaken for a breeze. Until now, he hadn't noticed she had stopped breathing.
His eyes dart up to lock on her ethereal grey ones. He can clearly see the fear and terror in those silvery orbs. Her chest is completely still below his hand, breath held captive in her lungs.
"Why does your skin look like this?" He asks, dismissing her frightful behavior. He smooths his fingers over the affected area, up over her shoulder.
Cally shudders, limbs stuck as though frozen in ice. She struggles to form words as she watches his fingers move lazily over her skin as though he had a right to do so.
"L-like what?" She whispers, too afraid to make any louder a noise.
"It is two different colors," he answers. "I have seen it before, but I never understood it."
Cally's brows furrow, only just understanding his meaning. "It is called a tan line. Our skin turns darker in the sunlight and, as you can see, the lighter skin has been exposed less, leaving a line."
He tilts his head in interest as he examines her further. "Can I see more?"
Cally blanches. "What?"
"Your 'tan lines' are something my people don't have," he explains. "I would like to see more; they are quite fascinating."
