Daughters of the Drowned

The sea - she remembers all.

No human was ever meant to live here, and even still, they tried - hard as they may - twice before.

The first was a stone colony carved deep into the seabed during an age of faith and fear. They called it their sanctuary, but it became their grave. When it sank, its people stayed - unwillingly, of course. Twisted by the pressure, turned to myth, or worse - forgotten.

Then came the second settlement. This one was newer, louder, flashier. It was built on top of the first - over bones that never settled, layered over the rot of what came before it. It drowned too. No one calls it a city anymore - merely wreckage still wired to nothing.

And it wasn’t until the Merfolk came - scavengers, spell-casters, sirens - that the drowned place started pulsing again. The bones held stories, and the drowned listened. They felt. They stirred.

And then... The Daughters of the Drowned returned.

In truth, Lilyanana and I weren’t handed a deed. We were called back, blood-bound to something old and waiting. Our names were etched into the coral long before we were even born.

The deed, however, that's the surface version of our story - one told for comfort, for paper. But we never inherited the town. We were claimed by it.

We're not its caretakers, we're its continuation.

Welcome to Graves Mourning, The Drowned City.

The sea blankets over me as she has always done. I was never entirely gone - it would be impossible for a Melusine to stay away from the sea forever. Her weight folds around me as I descend, my scales catching what little light dares follow. Below, the drowned city lies - stacked bones in a grave too deep for the living. The currents keep their voices, and I keep their words - drawn from journals softened by salt and time. Long ago, he cursed me, hollowing my heart until nothing of my own remained. Now I borrow what I can from the pages I find, their faded grief and joy flowing through me in brief, stolen breaths. But it isn’t long until he rips them away, leaving me bare once more - stripped of every borrowed ache. I am emptied and weakened. I have fought against him for as long as the currents have carried me - the one who waits for my inevitable surrender. He waits where our love drowned in its own hunger.