girl at the end of the world ♜ eulalie, day 3

She thinks it's a mermaid who saves her from drowning.

But the truth is, she can't be certain. The thing was too large, too fantastical for her mind to process. Pair that with the way her head is throbbing, and she hardly believes herself. But she remembers the feeling of hands, the heave of her body being pulled from the waves. Her vision was blurry, the sky was still grey and barely dotted with feeble rays of sunlight. There were fingers, and there was a voice, and there was this warm sensation of not being alone.

And then here is where she finds herself. Cold and lonely. Hair wet, belongings scattered on the bank of the river, she pulls herself up to sit and stares out to see nothing familiar. The water is still churning, but it no longer threatens to rise and consume everything in its path. She stares at the surface for quite some time, battling the urge to call out the names of two girls she has already allowed her heart to bleed over.

Unless their cannons sounded when she was beneath the water, they are still alive somewhere. Perhaps on the other side of the shore, perhaps seeking shelter inside the dark woods that unfurl behind her and seem to beacon her to follow like a crooked finger. A witch in the night, begging her to make a bargain she cannot come back from. There's also the possibility that they took this opportunity to be done with her, to run for the hills and split the wealth only between themselves.

Part of her knows better than this, and another part isn't concerned. What does it hurt her? She's able to press down on that sting when no one else is watching, when she's left alone with her own grandeur and this dream she's yet to let go of. The crown is still on her head, drinking in the stormy sky and reflecting it back. She still has her axe, her bag and enough resources to at least start mending her wounds. A quick swig of fresh water helps her head to stop aching. The crab bisque in her bag survived the tidal wave, and she gulps it down hungrily.

A good hour passes on the shore, nursing her wounds and sating her appetite. When she stands, she turns her back on the familiar path she follow and gazes at the woods. The shadows are long, the sounds haunting. She grabs the hilt of her weapon, blonde hair caught in the wind, and she gives herself to the wilds like a sacrifice.

Like a queen claiming her throne.