Page 26 of Claimed By the Deep
"Years. The basic structure came first—walking upright, the right number of limbs, roughly the right size. But the details... skin texture, facial expressions, the way humans breathe and blink and move their hands... those took decades to get right."
"You did all that just to talk to humans?"
"I did it because I couldn't stand being alone anymore." His honesty is raw, unguarded. "Because watching your kind from a distance wasn't enough. Because I needed to know what connection felt like instead of just observing it from the outside."
The weight of his century of isolation hits me like a physical blow. Teaching himself to become something he's not, all for the chance at real contact with another being.
"But you still can't..." I gesture toward the harbor, the town beyond. "You can't actually go on land, can you?"
"No." He follows my gaze, and I see longing in his eyes. "The transformation has limits. I can hold human form for hours, maybe a full day if I push myself. But I need water to survive. Mybreathing, my skin, the way I process nutrients—it all requires regular immersion."
"How regular?"
"Maybe six hours on land before it becomes dangerous. Less if I'm stressed or exerting myself." He looks down at his hands again. "And holding this form while dehydrating is... unpleasant."
The way he says "unpleasant" tells me he's massively understating things.
"Have you tried it? Going into town?"
"Once. Early on, when I was still figuring out your customs." His expression darkens. "I thought if I could walk among humans, observe up close, I might learn how to make contact. I made it to the Tidewash docks, spent maybe an hour wandering the streets."
"What happened?"
"My body gave out. I couldn't maintain the transformation, couldn't get back to water fast enough. If there hadn't been a fog bank to hide me, your neighbors would have seen me change back right in the middle of Main Street."
I imagine him stumbling through Tidewash's narrow streets, fighting pain, desperately trying to reach the harbor before his disguise failed. The thought makes my throat tight.
"You could have died."
"Nearly did. That's when I learned that no matter how well I can mimic human appearance, I'll always be stuck at the edge between your world and mine."
The quiet acceptance in his voice breaks something inside me. "Is that why you've been watching from a distance? Because you can't really join human society?"
"Partly." He meets my eyes. "But also because I couldn't imagine anyone choosing a relationship with such built-in limitations. What kind of life could I offer someone who can't live in my world any more than I can live in theirs?"
"Maybe that's not your choice to make."
"Isn't it?" He gestures around us. "Look where we are, Meri. Floating in the middle of nowhere because it's the only place we can both exist comfortably. You can't build a life underwater any more than I can build one on land."
"Maybe we don't need to build it in either place. Maybe we build something new."
He stares at me for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. "You make it sound simple."
"Maybe it is simple. Maybe we're just overthinking it because we're both used to being alone."
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth—the first real hope I've seen from him. "You might be right."
"I'm always right. Ask anyone in Tidewash."
That gets a laugh out of him, the sound so perfectly human I almost forget how much effort it takes him to maintain this form.
"How are you feeling now?" I ask. "Sitting here like this, I mean."
"Manageable. Being near the water helps, and I'm not doing anything strenuous." He rolls his shoulders, working out tension I can't see. "But I should probably change back soon."
"Do you want to?"
"Want doesn't really matter. This form is... borrowed. Temporary. It starts breaking down if I hold it too long."
