Before you begin reading, know this: This story contains lesbians, pirates, violence, a little bit of gore (but we are not here for guro), and story. It does not contain anyone who is under 18 years of age.
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Fog poured past the woman's legs. Her mind was numb, not fully realizing the gray, dream-like world around her. She could feel sand against her broad, flipper-like feet.
The woman was beautiful, inhumanly so. She was as tall as most men, and her skin was dark bronze and as smooth as silk. Her narrow waist and flat belly led to a strong hourglass figure. Her breasts were firm, large, and enviably full, and her buttocks likewise ideal. Her dark, tight pants were like a second skin, hugging her body so perfectly that they may not have even been there. A light button-down shirt, tucked in her pants, was open past her glorious bust, though it seemed that the shirt was forever caught on the woman's nipples.
Her face was lovely, diamond-like and defined. Perfect lips, Nubian nose, all very human. Her eyes, though almond, were a solid-sea green, the iris a haunting patch of lighter green and the pupil nonexistent, like the eyes of a creature of the deep. Her hair was like seaweed, green and wavering, sticking together in ribbons, and her fin-ears stuck out past them. As if it were not enough, gills fluttered on the woman's neck, opening and closing faintly with each breath to intake water. A complimentary set of gills fluttered on her ribs under her arms and breasts.
Her name was Shella.
Mute and oddly calm, she walked forward, just about blind from the mist. What was she doing here again? What was here?
A hand out of the mist took hers, smooth, caring, familiar. It tugged her along, beckoning her to follow. Her feet followed in some direction, the mist-covered sand puffing aside from her footsteps. She could almost see somebody in the mist. It was somebody just a few inches shorter than her.
They walked up an incline of sorts, and the mist slowly poured away from them. Shella stopped as soon as she saw the long, pale hair that hung down like it was wet. It was so familiar to her, and she had abandoned it.
Once the other person realized that Shella had stopped, they turned their head. Pale skin with pale, frosty eyes, with delicate lips and a thin, but gentle face of a woman. Her gaze lingered on Shella, but turned back and tried to drag her along.
Shella was speechless. Before her was a ghost. She could remember the clutches of Death that had gripped her in a world of pleasure and comfort, and how hollow it had been. She could remember the ten black pearls she assembled to pay for her way out. She could remember the woman who had helped her, and whom she had left behind.
Slowly, her steps weighed by awe and apology, Shella followed the woman. The mist parted around a thin, small-breasted body wearing a pale, torn dress. The tops of knee-high fine leather boots popped out of the ground-hugging fog. It
was
her. It was Lily.
The sand turned to grass beneath their feet, and they came upon a small hill topped with a flat, weathered rock. Lily went to the rock and sat down upon it.
Shella slowly stumbled to Lily and collapsed to her knees. Her hand stretched out, afraid to touch, and afraid not to. Lily was sitting right before her, smiling gently. Tears began to roll down Shella's cheek as she tried to choke out words. "Li-Lily, I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry."
Lily's look was accepting and calm. It always had been, because Lily had been waiting. After so many other, others that Shella couldn't even recall, she finally turned to Lily, used her, and moved on. And all she could do was apologize to Lily.
Tears ruined Shella's vision as she apologized, blurring the face of the odd angel who cared. A hand was placed on her cheek. Lily slid down to kneel with her, and slowly, she brought their lips together. Gentle, tender, and slightly colder than anything living, it silenced Shella's apology. The guilty plea still tumbled in her heart, but Lily was giving her apology.
Shella was stunned. She couldn't kiss back, and the tears still ran down from her eyes. She remembered how she had built up Lily's trust, only to dash it in a gamble to satisfy herself. Shella didn't deserve Lily. Breaking away weakly from Lily's tender touch, Shella begged, "Why?"
Lily didn't answer. She never did; she was mute. She communicated with what she could. Right now, she rested back smiling with her hand on Shella's shoulder. She rose, and gently tried to pull Shella up with her. Shella obliged.
Standing together in the mist, Shella felt like this never could come real, that this was just feverant wishing. She was a traitor. She could be as nice as she wanted to be, but she just didn't deserve this.
Ignoring Shella's guilt, Lily pulled her in for another kiss. Lips touched sweet lips, tears falling from bronzed skin to pale skin. Shella felt Lily hug her, hands circling her body and pressing on her back to keep her there. Desperately accepting whatever this was, Shella circled her arms around her vanished love. Every curve of the body was like how it was in the past. Nothing had changed.
Lily's hand slid down Shella's back and squeezed her buttocks playfully. Shella's eyes fluttered open in shock. She broke the kiss off again and looked into Lily's eyes. Lily's eyelashes fluttered wantonly, her gaze affectionate yet needful. Shella became acutely aware of hard nubs pressing against her from Lily's bosom.
"Are ye sure? Ye knew wha' happened las' time," Shella murmured, still amazed. How could a woman she spurned return to her like this?
