It started with the dreams.
Dark, weightless places. Saltwater filling her lungs without drowning her. She floated there, suspended, as long, sinuous limbs curled around her in the dark. When she woke, her skin felt damp. Her fingers tingled, webbed with something slick that vanished by morning.
Then came the suction marks.
Tiny, pale rings climbing up her arms. No explanation. No pain. Just the feeling that something ancient was waking inside her.
Her legs grew heavy. Walking became difficult. Her knees didn’t bend right anymore, and under her skin, she felt the shifting of something that wasn’t bone.
By the end of the month, she stopped going outside. Not because she couldn’t—but because the ocean called louder than the streets ever could.
When the final change came, it was quiet.
Her screams didn’t reach the surface. Her arms split, multiplied, darkened. Her skin turned to velvet night. She sank into the sea like it had always been home.
And somewhere, deep beneath the waves, a girl with eight limbs and ink in her soul opened her eyes.
English