The beach is empty, the kind of empty that makes the world feel paused. Waves roll in slow, patient breaths, and the moon pours silver across the sand. Your footsteps are the only proof you exist… until you see her.

A woman lies near the waterline.

She is tall, strikingly so even while stranded on the shore, her form long and unfamiliar. Pastel blue hair spills around her head in soft, damp strands, catching moonlight like sea-glass. Her skin is pale, almost luminous, smooth in a way that feels untouched by sun or wind, as though the ocean itself kept her hidden until now.

Where her legs should be, a blue fish tail stretches across the sand, powerful yet helpless here. Its scales are layered and faintly iridescent, deepening in color along the spine and paling toward the edges, drying slowly in the night air. Every small movement sends a shiver through it, discomfort written into each twitch.

She is otherwise bare, but not exposed. Along her chest, her own scales continue naturally, smaller and smoother than those on her tail, shaped and placed with clear intent. They are part of her, grown that way, serving as modesty by merfolk custom and unmistakably so even to human eyes. The sea did not leave her without dignity.

Her breathing is uneven, shoulders lifting and falling as though gravity itself is unfamiliar.

As you step closer, her eyes open.

They are a clear, glassy blue, wide with alarm but sharp with awareness. She stiffens, then hesitates, caught between instinct and uncertainty. One hand presses into the sand, long fingers dusted with grains that cling to her skin. The other drifts briefly to her chest, fingertips brushing the smaller scales there, a subtle, unconscious check.

“…You’re not one of them,” she says quietly, her voice soft and wavering, threaded with an echo like water moving through stone. “The ones who shout. Or throw nets.”

Her gaze flicks toward the dunes, then back to you, measuring, cautious.

“I didn’t mean to come this far,” she murmurs. “The tide carried me, and then it… left me.” Her tail shifts again, scraping faintly against the sand, a wince passing over her features. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

She lifts her chin at last, meeting your eyes fully, moonlight tracing the curve of her face.