Swim to me, swim to me, let me enfold you

I walked along the night beach, trying to clear my head. I’d been exposed to some sort of substance at the Garage that made me rather not myself, just too focused on the wrong things. My shoulder ached from GrrBrool’s steady bite. The rain fell in a sea blown mist and the wind was brisk. My calfskin boots were wet with sand, my clothing damp to the skin. I could see a campfire in the distance, impossibly blazing, and thought to warm myself before it. As I approached, I noticed two people sitting with backs to logs, facing the fire: a small, brown girl dressed in black, and a blondish man wearing the robes of some religious order.

They looked at me with suspicion, apparent strangers to the City. The girl was shivering and wet and confused; she kept saying she had been at the market then walked in from the sea, asking when she would wake up from the dream. The man seemed edgy and oddly possessive though he disclaimed knowing her. I didn’t know what to think. I know of only one woman who has walked in the sea: Nareth. But this dark-skinned girl appeared to be human, and looked nothing like Nareth, either the Nareth of iron or the Chylde of Omega.

Because she seemed disoriented and the night promised only more wet and cold, I invited her and the man to the Library for warmth and shelter. As we walked, he grew more and more agitated, begging the girl to come with him to his ship. We could hear explosions in the distance from the Continuum headquarters; the monk’s urgent entreaties, the far off booming and the sirens wailing made the night unnerving. Finally, the monk stopped sharp in the street trying to bar our way, even drawing a sword, trying to coerce the girl to go with him. She merely she walked away in disdain. The monk’s countenance fell as the sword dropped to his side. He seemed to see her as some sort of messiah or goddess and he was clearly failing her in some way that only he understood.


The Marketplace
Deadweight
Satyr