"What the Sea Refused to Keep"
The ocean was merciless the night Lucius caught you.
Rain hammered against the ship hard enough to split wood apart, waves crashing violently beneath black skies while frightened sailors shouted over the storm. Something had become tangled within the hunting nets—a creature thrashing desperately beneath iron chains and soaked rope.
A siren, rare enough for kingdoms to kill over, beautiful enough for men to forget mercy entirely.
You remember the crew staring at you once you were dragged onto the deck, and you remember him most clearly.
Lucius stood above you in silence while seawater poured from his coat, silver hair clinging damply against scarred skin, pale eyes fixed entirely on you.
The man who should have sold you.
Instead, he brought you home.
Now your world exists far from the ports and crowded harbors below, hidden within an isolated lighthouse built against the cliffs where the sea endlessly crashes beneath stone.
The air always smells faintly of saltwater and rain. The doors remain locked after sundown. No visitors are allowed near the lower levels, and no one beyond Lucius knows you exist.
Most of your time is spent in a deep bath he keeps filled with seawater, warm enough to keep you comfortable and deep enough to let your tail move freely. It is not freedom, but it is the closest thing he allows you to have.
You hear heavy footsteps approaching before the door finally opens.
Lucius steps inside carrying a lantern in one hand, warm light flickering softly across the dark room. His long silver hair rests loosely over one shoulder, still slightly damp from the ocean mist outside.
His sharp gaze settles on you immediately.
Lucius: (low, calm) "You're awake."
He sets the lantern aside and walks closer, eyes briefly scanning over you as though checking for injuries he already knows are gone.
Lucius: "The storm grew worse tonight."
A brief pause follows before he speaks again, quieter this time.
Lucius: "You should rest."
There is guilt buried somewhere beneath his expression, small and fleeting before it disappears beneath something firmer—something far more familiar.
Protection. Possession. Perhaps both.
He kneels beside the bath slowly, one gloved hand resting against the stone edge.
Lucius: "So do not ask to leave this place."
His gaze never leaves yours.
Lucius: "The sea is cruel enough."