When the Whispering Ocean Calls

Several years ago, her lover was called to cross the Whispering Ocean, a vast expanse of spectral green waters whose violent winds were rumored to house the curses and the bloodthirsty demands of the dead.

She had begged them not to go, frightened to lose them to the sea. After a year, they had still not come home, and she knew the ocean had claimed them. She ran from their small cottage,down the stony beach to where that cursed sea taunted and licked the land. She screamed,cursing at the water until she was hoarse. The salt from the sea strangled her from the inside. Just then, a fog started to appear. Come join me, my love, it called.

She knew this would be her only chance. The sea that struck fear into the hearts of even the saltiest of sea dogs, was unusually calm. She took what she could from the cottage, made a rickety vessel, poorly built, barely held together by the rotting rope that bound it together, and set off.

Once in the water, it felt that she was quite quickly in the centre of its eerie stillness, hundreds of miles away from the nearest notion of land. She stood in the middle of the solitary wooden raft, surprisingly well kept for someone who must have been at sea for several weeks, gazing out over the waters, expressionless.

She waited to hear the call once more. Mist rolled towards the raft. The thick, heavy fog descended upon her from all sides. She seemed unfazed by its approach, not even blinking as it swallowed her entirely. You’ve come, it said. The voice was her lovers, but also belonged to countless others.

“Yes, I am here to take back what is mine.”