I wake at four in the morning, when my alarm goes off. I reach over blindly to smack it, stopping the god-awful ringing noise. I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes. She sits up with me, all bleary-eyed. When she’s not spending the day in the water, with her family, she comes out on the boat with us. Whichever it is, she always wakes with me so she can kiss me goodbye before I leave.

My glasses are on the nightstand, and I can’t see. I don’t even care to put them on, collapsing back onto the pillows with her in my arms. She likes to be all up on me when she’s in human form, because she has trouble regulating her body temperature on land. She sits up and grabs for my glasses, haphazardly getting them onto my face. She doesn’t really understand how they work, but she understands that I need them.

Propping myself up on one of my arms, I use the other to put them on properly. It’s then that I’m met with the beautiful sight of her sweet, round face and long, inky hair. Her eyes are the dark blue of a violent, stormy sea; and the little beauty marks that dot her skin are reminiscent of the spots of her pelt. I lean in to kiss her, and she responds in kind with a contented sigh. Not long after, she tucks us back under the covers.

“Must you go out today?” She asks, face softening into a pout I always have trouble denying. She’s spoiled rotten, but who could say no to such a face. “You know I have to, my star. It’s my job.” I respond, and her frown deepens. I can hear rain- hale, really- pouring down on the roof and lashing the windows. I know the waters will be rough, and she must be able to sense the turbulence.

She looks out the window, wrinkles of worry appearing between her eyebrows. “The storm is too strong. I will be unable to protect you, if you go out today.” She says, her eyes set firmly on me. Selkies can be vengeful things; able to sink ships easily and start storms that would make you think the world is coming to an end. They can also protect ships, something she does for me often.

I know even she won’t see her family today, as the water is too rough. She puts a hand to my face, and kisses my cheek. “I worry for you, Rua. Tell your father to stay in the bay today, yes?” She asks, drawing me closer to her. She runs a thumb over my cheek softly. “Don’t make me worry. Tell your father?” She asks, voice soft but firm. I gaze at her, and I know her concern is genuine, but I know what I’m doing.