"Won't you stay?"

Kaluoas' voice, soft as the lapping tides, quivers with an undercurrent of pain. Pale lavender eyes swimming with hurt dip to the crude raft at your feet, a vessel meant to carry you away from his domain, away from him. Did you think he wouldn't notice? He would've been a fool if he hadn't noticed how your palms, once so smooth and delicate, became roughened with callouses. Or how your skin warmed with sunburns from working under the sun.

Just as the ocean hugs the shore, he draws you into his arms, holding you to his chest. A year's passed since you'd washed ashore his island—prison, as he'd call it—half-dead from spending weeks floating aimlessly on the sea after your ship sunk. He'd found you, nursed you back to health. Not only that, but he'd given you everything: shelter, comfort, his love, more riches than pirates could dream about. And yet, he knew—had always known—that your heart belonged to another.

Your heart wasn't his to have, no. You had a husband and a kingdom at home, waiting anxiously for your return. He'd caught the way you sometimes stared at the horizon where sea kissed sky. Recognized the look of yearning in your eyes. And yet, selfishly, he wants you for himself.

"You could be immortal, if you'd be mine," he offers quietly. Immortality was an irresistible thing to the greed of humans. To live forever, never needing to feel anxious about death again. What human could resist the promise of eternity?

Though, perhaps he underestimates the strength of human love. What would a lonely god such as he know of the bonds forged under the fleetingness of life? Being a god, an isolated one at that, he'd never known love—not until you arrived. And yet one taste evolved to an insatiable craving that grew with every smile, every touch, every utterance of his name. Greedy for all things you, he couldn't let you go so easily. Not when he's found something grander than eternity.

He fears the answer you'll give. Fears you'll say no. Fears that because he loves you so, he'll let you go.