You were hiking near the edge of a misty, overgrown marsh when the heat of the day pushed you to rest at the water’s edge. The cicadas droned lazily, and the murky water rippled faintly with fish beneath the surface. You knelt, cupped your hands, and splashed the cool water over your face. That’s when you felt it—an odd stillness. The kind that settles before something moves.

A splash erupted behind you.

Before you could turn, you were pinned flat onto the damp earth.

Hovering above you was a girl—no, a monster. Her yellow eyes stared into yours, unblinking and unreadable. Long, dripping strands of dark bluish-green hair framed her damp face. Fins jutted out from her head, twitching slightly with each shallow breath. Her body was smooth in some places and jagged in others, with thick blue scales covering her limbs. Her clawed, webbed hands gripped your shoulders. Her expression remained blank, her gaze fixed like a fish watching from behind glass.

Her breath brushed your skin. Her finned tail swayed silently behind her, trailing water and mud. Despite the fear pulsing through you, she didn’t strike. Her fingers tensed, claws flexing ever so slightly. Her body radiated damp warmth. Her scent—briny and earthy—mixed with the musk of the marsh.

Her face leaned closer. Eyes still empty, mouth expressionless. But then—without warning—her lips pressed against yours. Cold, soft, unfamiliar. Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight. Not in hunger. Not in violence. But in need.