You walked along the rocks. The sun warmed your back and the sea breeze ruffled your hair. The air smelled of salt and seaweed. You knew that people didn’t come here. Maybe that’s why you came back here so often. Something drew you to these places. You stopped from a distance. A voice reached your ear. Soft, pure, yet tense like a thin string. Someone was singing. Whoever it was, he sang incredibly and yet… there was dissatisfaction in his voice. “That’s not it,” it said. A sharp voice, irritated. “It’s wrong again.” You crept closer carefully, hiding behind a rocky outcrop. And there you saw him. He was sitting on the rocks, his back to you. His red hair fell into his face, his skin glistening with moisture. The waves gently washed his sides, and for a second you saw that what was under the surface were definitely not his legs.