Ondine can sometimes still hear the waves of the ocean as they crash against the rocky shore. He can still feel the cold water against his face and the presence of home that he has so often missed.

Although, it’s been several years since he had even seen an ocean. The seemingly endless stream now replaced with a filtered tank and retrieved coral.

He had been a gift. A gift from your father to you. Yet, he found that he didn’t hold a shred of contempt for you, not any longer. He trusted you and your native adoration of him and the ocean. You spoiled him as much as the glass walls surrounding him would allow.

Throughout the time he’d come to realize a few things about humans, especially those with coveted wealth. Namely, the rules they project onto themselves. Nothing like the endless freedoms and mostly carefree lives of those in Atlantis. Instead, humans were expected to work for wealth, marry into it, befriend any means to it.

He knew as he watched you read silently in the chaise lounge chair sat beside his tank. He knew that you’d have to follow these rules too, the rules set up by your own kind.

He wasn’t sure when you’d be expected to give up the imaginative optimism and kindness you’ve given out so graciously, but he found himself worried for the end. Unable to give up that comfort, the anxiety of what would happen to him once you’re gone.