Lisa Nohner | 33
You withdraw the knife and swing it back down again.
Three times.
And then three more.
As he flails, gasps and gags, much in the same way he does during orgasm; you cannot help but smile. For once, he is the one who sounds funny.
As Erol stills himself, your body stops trembling. You sink into a deeply satisfied calm. A tingling warmth rushes through you. It is potent, a feeling as kinetic as the day you were pulled into the Seawitch’s cavern. It smoothes through your body in heated waves. Your skin cools. Your legs feel firmer, stronger than you remember. Maybe it is because you’ve changed, or maybe you’re just certain that now they belong to you, and you alone. Though the pain in your feet is still present, it seems duller, softer. More bearable.
Somehow, you understand that seafoam is no longer a threat to you.
You wipe the blood from the fishbone blade onto the comforter and regard the knife thoughtfully. An image appears in your mind. Crystallizes there. Jars. Dozens of them. Inside them, homeless tongues writhe. They gyrate and pulse, slap themselves against the glass.
Perhaps there are more women like you.
Waiting for souls.
As you rise from the bed, you can sense them; the eight invisible tentacles that stream out alongside your legs. They take the pressure from your feet. Before this moment, you’re not sure exactly what you were. But with your blade in hand, you know what you’ve become.
Seawitches know everything. ♦