Chapter Text
There is a smell present in every human who yearns for death. It lingers in their clothes, weaves through the air and persists when they’ve long gone, like a pest.
Shiori recognises it being like a rotting whale. A scent purely unappetising, that her stomach twists and nose wrinkles. A gourmet such as herself wouldn’t eat such meat, unless prepared in such a fashion where the smell was hidden, or the meat was of quality.
Hinako, her favourite human, has given off that smell ever since Shiori found her—but she’s not the first human she’s known to emit such a scent—and where Hinako’s was bearable, as if it was some lesser degree of death-seeking, the other human she knew was not the case.
The mermaid, for the convenience of being able to comfortably lie in Hinako’s bed, hid her monstrous form under a curtain of human skin. It stretched over her scales and buried her coral horns. In her human arms is the sleeping figure of Hinako, her blonde hair sprawling out under the pillow and tickling her nose whenever the monster breathed inward. Shiori is pressed against the wall, the small bed evidently not fit for two. The moonlight seeping in through the curtains illuminated Hinako’s pale face in such a way that the mermaid forgot the lack of space.
Any mermaid, or more precisely, monsters in general did not need to sleep and Shiori would rather stay awake on the chance something happened. There were times where she laid in this comfortable bed simply to sink into it and breathe in Hinako’s smell—the smell of a human who wished to die, but hid it with a mask.
The mask gave her smell a more perfume-like, flowery tint, like pulling up the roots of a beautiful orchid and seeing the root rot under the surface. This orchid scent is something she clung onto like a life raft, reminding the monster that there could possibly be time to change course of this ship before it sinks.
Hinako mumbles something in her sleep about someone named Tomori. Shiori pushes it, alongside the wish that her human dreamt of her, aside. The smell of Hinako’s shampoo overwhelms any death-seeker scent, and for a moment, her eyes close and mind wanders to happier memories.
Picking at seashells with someone on the shore. The sunlight on her scaled back. The cool ocean water dripping from her black hair whilst she curls around the human girl at the cove Shiori resided in, who’s blonde hair slowly grows longer.
Darker.
Soaking up ink until it’s as black as the void around them, the once smiling face of Hinako is replaced by a fuzzy, wavering memory of someone else. Someone with the same stench of death, thrown into the cove as sacrifice, as offering.
Her name was Azami and like her namesake, she was both a beautiful flower and a thorned weed.
Shiori only wanted to express gratitude for this girl’s existence, for the fact that she nestled beside her and was seemingly uncaring to her flesh-eating diet, but the mermaid had been wrong on their relationship. Azami did not see through the rough exterior of her scales, did not understand her the way Hinako does. Her company by Shiori’s side was not out of friendship, and whatever good the two had was squandered by the time Shiori gave Azami a certain gift: her flesh, said to turn humans immortal.
For a moment, back then in that cove, Shiori thought she understood what it was like.
To have family, that is.
If Azami did feel that way, though, and the two were allowed to share a life of immortality together…
Hinako sighs in her sleep, and leans her head back, resting her head under Shiori’s chin. Who, in response, moves her head up and gives a reaffirming squeeze to Hinako’s side, letting her know she was still here. Her heart beats in gentle rhythm, and it snaps Shiori out of her original thought. She listens whilst she ponders.
The connection between these two humans isn’t lost on the mermaid. Hinako’s name referencing flowers, how Azami’s name references a thistle—how the two yearn for death yet persevere regardless—how Shiori thought of them both to be close to her…
There is, however, a slight difference in how close Shiori wanted Hinako to be. Physically, like now, there is no closer, but it didn’t feel enough. There was some unknown gap between them that Shiori didn’t know how to close. Regardless of such thoughts, she focuses back on Azami, their shared past and the lingering guilt that festered in her stomach.
Shiori promises herself she wouldn’t repeat that mistake, but to do so, one must understand humans and humanity. In the past, she never thought to care and learn such a thing—humans never went through the effort to understand her—instead treating her like a beast to be killed or worshipped in favour of immortality. Now though, as she cradles Hinako in her arms, feeling the warmth of her body, the orchid scent overpowering anything else; Shiori finds herself wanting to know. That way, Hinako wouldn’t loathe her the way Azami does.
She closes her eyes and relaxes her shoulders, only now aware of how tense she felt. In her mind’s eye was the rushing memories of the past, crashing over one another like ocean waves—but soon—the water calms. She breathes in the smell of orchid, and her mind fills with only Hinako, amongst a meadow of red flowers.