gazeteur:

THE LANGUAGE OF THORNS   →   I REMEMBER YOU

“I remember you,” he said, watching her, the same words he’d spoken when he’d approached her at the first night’s feast.

“That can’t be,” she gasped, breathless from the pain, the ache receding only as the sound of the bell faded.

“Do you know why your voice is so strong?” the apprentice asked. “Because you were born on land. Because you took your first breath above the surface and bawled your first infant cry here. Then my mother, our mother, took up the bell your father had given her, the bell he’d placed in her hand when he realized she carried a child. She went down to the shore and knelt at the waters and held the bell beneath the waves. She rang it once, twice, and a few moments later your father emerged in the shallows, his silver tail like a sickle moon behind him, and took you away.”

She shook her head. It cannot be.

“Look into the mirror,” he commanded, “and try to deny it.”