I sat on the pier and watched the sun meet the sea as it reached up to swallow whatever evidence was left of (_______)'s existence. I had the urge to dive underwater and struggle against the claws of the ocean until I could pull their memories back to shore like I did to them when we first met. It felt cruel to drown them in a tradition that was not meant for their kind—yet that was what they had always dealt with, wasn't it? Being swept into the tide of chaos like a shell on the shoreline.
I could no longer see the trinkets sinking to the ground, but I was still left feeling like someone had torn out my heart and plunged it underwater without warning. It was almost as if a part of me had fallen to the earth alongside (_______). The bitter taste of a hopeless wish lingered on my tongue, begging for me to cry out to the horizon and let me die, too.
I couldn't tell if it was humour or frustration that brought back the thought of when Eric warned me what costs I'd be laying on the table if I agreed to being immortal. He had given up everything that he'd been raised on, faced the fear that his very essence could be shattered, just for the chance to grow old alongside Raymond.
Why did I need to be immortal? I would live a long time, regardless. How should I be fed the wonder of living, when someone who's been reaching for it their whole life has to watch their life source dripping through their fingers?
The ocean was cruel, the ocean takes and consumes, but it will nurture. It will hold its treasures to its chest and cradle it, waiting for their next owner to come by. I like to believe that (_______)'s soul is being sheltered by the sea. Where they'd get to rest and be safe, where they'd get the chance to be a child for once.
And maybe one day, centuries later, I won't even remember that (_______) even existed. But the ocean will not. The ocean never forgets.