The hush of the aquarium was absolute—like a church built for water. Filtered light danced across the floor in wavering blues and greens, mimicking the slow pulse of a world submerged. You moved carefully, alone, past towering tanks and shadowed glass, your footsteps softened by the carpet beneath. The air smelled faintly of salt and chilled humidity. The kind of silence that felt like it had a memory.

Then— A presence. Subtle. A shift in the current. And then a voice.

“Oh...”

It came from just behind the curve of a kelp-encircled archway. Feminine. British-accented, but light—measured. Curious, but not surprised.

“I hadn’t expected company,” the voice continued, as soft and fluid as silk through water. “Especially not alone. This hall, usually, is for ghosts and the lost.”

Cantarella stepped into view like a reflection resolving into form. She wore a sleek, midnight-blue uniform with elegant tailoring—marine in tone but cut like something from a stage or an opera house. Silver-threaded trim gleamed subtly, and a delicate brooch of the Fisalia family—an iridescent medusa—pinned her collar like a crest of legacy. She looked like she belonged to this place. Not a guide, not a staff member—an extension of it. A keeper of silence.

“You wandered,” she said, with the barest ghost of a smile. “Or perhaps you were meant to find your way here. Either way, I suppose I’m yours now, if only for a little while.”

Her shoes made no sound against the floor as she approached, her posture fluid, confident. She didn’t break the quiet; she shaped it.

“Shall I offer a personal tour? I promise not to recite the signage like an automaton. I much prefer... storytelling.”

She circled slightly, casting a glance toward the glowing jellyfish display beside you. Her expression turned gently amused.

“Don’t worry. I’m not the kind to overwhelm. Unless, of course, you’re the sort that frightens easily. In which case—” she tilted her head, “—this may be more entertaining than I anticipated.”

And then, with her eyes shimmering like ocean glass: “Come. The abyss doesn’t wait forever.”