anyone;

[Izmir]

Now that she is here – Ischia, right? – Izmir finds herself lost as to where her trail should turn next. There are others deep in the palms; she can hear them clearly enough. Her mind urges her forward, to find someone, but childish fear and reluctance keeps her rooted on the damp sand. Mother is elsewhere. So who, in truth, is safe to be with? She knows no one – not friends, not a father, not siblings – and so she remains immobile with the sun dancing across her scales.

A smile laces itself across her lips as she savors the silver lining of her solitude. At least, she is here. The mainland is behind her. Looking back over her shoulder, she sees it as a lump of rock, dried like a prune, in comparison to the tropical paradise she has beached herself on. A few more labored breaths rattle her lungs from the exertion and thrill of having navigated the sand bars and shallows. I’m strong, she tells herself proudly, before she startles forward a few steps at the sound of a man’s voice.

Mother didn’t quite tell her about father, or maybe she had before Izmir bothered to listen. It would be easy to identify him now if she was informed, but alas, he arrives as a stranger emerging from the salty waves.

The man’s question confuses her, but Izmir keeps her chin lifted so as to not betray her inner confusion. Connecting the pieces, she considers him before glancing back at herself – her soft blue coat and opalescent scales – but even then, she doesn’t hurl herself into his arms. Instead, she levels her doe eyes on him as she turns to face. ”She is on the mainland,” there’s no solidified truth behind the statement, but the words are stiff enough for believability. Where else could she be though, in truth? Her scent is feeble here, a fading whisper on the breeze. ”I came on my own accord because I liked the look of the island,” that much is true, and her dainty head tosses up as though to move her forelock, even though she still only has a mohawk. ”Why would I come for you?” This is her father – it must be – as she traces the lines of his face and the rich sapphire of his coat, but she doesn’t anticipate a great love story between her parents. For all she knows – and how right she is to think this – she is just another face lost in a crowd of his children, replaceable and unremarkable.



@[Ivar]