Zairah
I had a dream, which was not all a dream... The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless..
“Turned?” Zairah echoed softly, the word landing strange. It sounded heavy. Sharp. Something that left marks when you said it too often or too loud. Her brows knit, not quite in pity but in curiosity, that bone-deep hunger for meaning that still hadn't quieted. “That sounds worse,” she said bluntly. “Was it painful? Do you remember life before you turned?”
The words came out flat, not cruel — just matter-of-fact. She looked Thalassa over again, like she was trying to see what years looked like. What they did to a person.
The captain didn’t look old, not in the way Zairah imagined “years” should. Her skin was smooth, her body still coiled tight like a spring — but something about her face told a different story. Not wrinkles. Weight. A heaviness that had settled behind the eyes and never left. Her blue gaze was the kind of color the ocean turns when it stops being calm.
Her horns gleamed like polished stone, darker than her hair, blue caught deep inside the black the way fire hides in coal. Zairah wondered if they’d hurt, pushing through skin like that. Absently, she rubbed at the tender skin around her own horns. As Thalassa's scaled tail flicked with that quiet authority, Zairah thought — not for the first time — that some people carried their power like a secret, and others like a blade. Thalassa did both.
If this was what years did to a person, maybe she didn’t mind the idea.
So when Thalassa said, Shed blood, Zairah didn’t blink, didn’t question it. Instead, her grin curved sharp and her eyes brightened. “Oh, definitely,” she smiled, “Nothing else is quite the same. The smell. The heat.. You start to feel like you could burn the whole world down if you wanted to..” Her tongue darted against the back of her teeth, a restless tic of memory. The words felt true in her mouth, the way Charlie’s laughter had felt true in her ear when the bowl was empty and the world had smelled of smoke and ruin.
And then the captain’s next words landed, the offer dressed up as a threat. Before you get yourself killed.
Zairah’s grin flashed back, wide and white and entirely unbothered. “You think I’d die easy?” she asked, not defiant, not joking — just genuinely curious. Her tone carried that same innocent danger she always had, the kind that didn’t yet know what it should be afraid of.
She stepped away from the crates and shook the numbness from her fingers, stepping closer with a kind of eager focus. “Show me then,” she said.
The air between them seemed to tighten, the sound of the docks fading into a distant hum. Her tail flicked once behind her, deliberate this time. “But if I hit you,” she added, her grin fading into a ghost of a smile, “I’m not saying sorry.”
The words came out flat, not cruel — just matter-of-fact. She looked Thalassa over again, like she was trying to see what years looked like. What they did to a person.
The captain didn’t look old, not in the way Zairah imagined “years” should. Her skin was smooth, her body still coiled tight like a spring — but something about her face told a different story. Not wrinkles. Weight. A heaviness that had settled behind the eyes and never left. Her blue gaze was the kind of color the ocean turns when it stops being calm.
Her horns gleamed like polished stone, darker than her hair, blue caught deep inside the black the way fire hides in coal. Zairah wondered if they’d hurt, pushing through skin like that. Absently, she rubbed at the tender skin around her own horns. As Thalassa's scaled tail flicked with that quiet authority, Zairah thought — not for the first time — that some people carried their power like a secret, and others like a blade. Thalassa did both.
If this was what years did to a person, maybe she didn’t mind the idea.
So when Thalassa said, Shed blood, Zairah didn’t blink, didn’t question it. Instead, her grin curved sharp and her eyes brightened. “Oh, definitely,” she smiled, “Nothing else is quite the same. The smell. The heat.. You start to feel like you could burn the whole world down if you wanted to..” Her tongue darted against the back of her teeth, a restless tic of memory. The words felt true in her mouth, the way Charlie’s laughter had felt true in her ear when the bowl was empty and the world had smelled of smoke and ruin.
And then the captain’s next words landed, the offer dressed up as a threat. Before you get yourself killed.
Zairah’s grin flashed back, wide and white and entirely unbothered. “You think I’d die easy?” she asked, not defiant, not joking — just genuinely curious. Her tone carried that same innocent danger she always had, the kind that didn’t yet know what it should be afraid of.
She stepped away from the crates and shook the numbness from her fingers, stepping closer with a kind of eager focus. “Show me then,” she said.
The air between them seemed to tighten, the sound of the docks fading into a distant hum. Her tail flicked once behind her, deliberate this time. “But if I hit you,” she added, her grin fading into a ghost of a smile, “I’m not saying sorry.”
