Once upon a sea, there was a fisherman who caught a mythical creature.
A being that could easily captivate a human through her true nature of kindness and beauty.
She did not scream when the net tightened around her.
She only looked at him, eyes wide and wet like the tide itself.
They called her a selkie.
The selkie he caught was one of a kind—
a blessing wrapped in skin and silence.
From the moment she entered his life, the sea grew generous.
His nets came back heavy.
Storms bent away from his boat.
Hunger no longer knocked on his door.
People began to whisper.
Luck followed him wherever he went.
Prosperity clung to his shadow.
But everyone knows what a selkie experiences once the blue moon finally comes.
A calling older than love.
Older than gratitude.
A longing that seeps into the bones and pulls her back to the water she was born from.
She spoke of it softly.
Of the sea.
Of home.
Of the pain that waits when the moon turns full and blue.
So instead of giving back her pelt,
instead of letting her suffer that ache again, he decided to save her.
He told himself it was mercy.
That loneliness was crueler than captivity.
That the sea would only take her away and leave him empty once more.
And that was when I, the fisherman,
burned her pelt.
I watched the fire consume it.
Listened as something ancient cracked and screamed without a voice.
The smell of salt and fur filled the air, and with it, her future turned to ash.
She did not cry.
She only stared at the flames,
as if something inside her had finally understood what forever truly meant.
Now she will never feel the pull of the blue moon again.
Never feel the pain of longing.
Never leave.
So we live longer— together,
bound by what I destroyed,
forever.