Work Text:
.Galatea POV.
[If I could go back to a time before now, before I ever fell down. If I could go back to the time when I was just a girl, when I had the whole world gently wrapped around me and no good thing could be taken away, I would.
I've never been so miserable. I wake up in the same cramped bed that belongs to me, only to get back into my wheelchair and roll down to the same beach nearly every day. Nothing in it for me except my own heart that has become sluggish.
Running from my own life now. Looking up to the sky for something I may never find, which is consolation in these times of dismay.
I find comfort in watching the waves crash against the sand and the aroma of salt water stinging my nose.
The seashells, seaweed, and driftwood scattered across the pale sand, each having its own story to tell. The sun never shines, at least not over this village. Nothing new happens. The same boats go out to fish, bringing back the bleak, colorless fish with the saddest expressions.
I thankfully had carried my easel, canvas, and paints with me today. With quivering hands, I pick up my easel, propping my canvas into it. I clutch a thin paintbrush in hand. Wetting the bristles of my paintbrush with my shaking tongue, I began to paint. I become eradicated in sorrow and grief as I capture the alluring essence of the lonesome, Prussian blue waves on my canvas.
The lighthouse in the distance shines through the fog, creating a mysterious effect in the mist. Though I am an outcast, the villagers admire my work. Some people feel what some people don't when they watch me work. Some people watch until they explode. The true meaning of life doesn't seem to shine like the surface of my block of marble glinting under a light. ]
.Grace POV.
[With swift elegance, I glide through the cold dampness.
With a tight grip on my pointed harpoon, I raise my head from above the water, the cold breeze creating a freezing feeling on my moist face.
A melancholy woman with extended dusty blonde hair who seems to be painting the waves that push me ahead ever so slightly, as if the forces of the depressing nature enclosing this village and its dark waters want me to go closer. Closer to the surface. Closer to her.
I didn't think of humans as the type to be kind. Matter of fact, I thought of them as quite a prudent bunch with little to no care about their acts.
I left my heart in the depths it's fallen through, this backstabbing village could sink beneath these waters for all I care.
Sinking beneath the water again, I make my way to the sandy shore of this gloomy beach. I surface myself, lying on the sand, calling and singing to the woman with a captivating siren-like voice.
I watch her peer from behind her canvas, her beautiful face dressed in a sorrowful expression. Her red lipstick was smudged, and black eyeliner ran down her cheeks, an obvious sign of weeping. Her eyes had a look of longing and desperation in them, I wasn't quite sure if it was from my singing, or if she had always been so depressed. Once she got a good look at me, the emotion in her eyes was different, it was something vague.]
.Galatea POV.
[That voice of hers was like nepenthe, nepenthe I would quaff with the greatest speeds to make me forget this painful anguish. The sound of her song and the silken, sad, uncertain roar of each crashing wave thrilled me. It filled me with fantastic terrors I've never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I set down my paintbrush and eagerly wheeled closer to her.]
"Your voice...It is amazing. It's nothing like the things I've heard around here in this bland and unsightly village."
"Thank you. I couldn't help but notice you, delicately painting a canvas on the shore. Do you mind telling me or showing me your illustration?"
"I don't mind, not at all.."
[I wheeled back to my easel, carefully picking up the unfinished artwork crafted by my shakey hands. I turned my wheelchair and carefully approached the beautiful nymph and presented my work to her.]
"I'm sorry it is so poor. It is not finished yet."
"Why, this is beautiful! You have somehow managed to make these tasteless badlands of a village seem so wonderfully mysterious."
"Thank you..That truthfully does mean a lot to me."
[She smiled at me, and I smiled back. Finally feeling at peace, my tense muscles relaxed and the uneasy feeling in my stomach subsided.]
"O' charming lady of the sea," I began, "may I add you to this painting of mine?"
"Why, of course, you may."
[The naiad followed me back to my easel. Posing with great poise and elegance for me to paint, I swiftly got back to work. I captured the beauty of this naiad in front of me that I know not of her name, yet I am still so mysteriously drawn to her.
Drawn to her like the forbidden fruit that Eve picked from the forbidden tree and ate. Adam, who was with her and ate it, too. Their eyes were opened and soon their innocence and naïveté were lost. Just like mine. They ran from God and his holy presence and were soon after expelled from the garden, paradise lost.
Her magnificence is similar to an angel, almost as if she is one, an angel of the vast, never-ending, and eternal seas. By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore, I pray for some seraphim, some archangel to tell this soul with sorrowful hindrance if, within the outlying heavens, that they shall carefully and lovingly hold this obsession.
Could it be that she is my ray of sunlight in this cruel and unjust world? The key to my true happiness? Or is it just her song that has similar properties to the drug of forgetfulness mentioned in ancient Greek literature and Greek mythology?
The still setting in my painting becomes a gracefully moving scene inside of my mind, A scene where I and this woman are sitting on the cold sand. Delicate fingers interlaced with each other, looking at the drab scenery together. Is this how it feels to be in love? ]
.Grace POV.
[ She seems lost in her thoughts. She's motionless and gazing at her canvas, her chest slowly rising and falling with each soft breath she takes. I reset my posture and slowly walked toward her, making sure to not startle her. Once I was by her side I fixate my attention on her almost-done illustration. There, before my eyes was an exquisite piece of art. The dusty sand complimented the dull waves, enshrouded in mist is where I abide. I was the centerpiece of this work. The painting was nearly complete.
The craftsmanship filled my aquatic heart with something mysterious, something pleasantly vague. Her attention to anatomy was elegant, and captivating..]