Archive of Our Own

On your dappled throne, eternal Afroditi,
cunning daughter of Zeus,
I beg you, do not crush my heart
with pain.

"Whom shall I persuade
again to take you into her love? Who,
O Sappho, wrongs you?

Should she flee, soon will she give chase.
Should she scorn gifts, soon will she grant them.
Should she refuse love, soon will she love,
even with a cracked heart."

Come to me now and loosen me
from blunt agony. All my heart
yearns to accomplish, accomplish.
Let us fight this battle, together.

Blood and saltwater. There’s nothing quite like the acrid combination. Chaeryeong breathes it in, relishing the way it coats her tongue. It’s a beautiful day for sailing, she thinks as she watches the dying man claw his way out of the water and onto the craggy rocks at the edge of her island. She wraps her wings around herself as she looks down from her perch. The sea is sucking at his legs, beckoning him to join his brothers, urging him to heed Charon’s call. The man does not listen. 

Chaeryeong watches as the sailor finishes hauling himself to relative safety. He’s rough around the edges, as a man of the sea should be. Long and lithe, even as he curls in on himself, clutches his ribs, and groans. His dark hair is short and plastered to his head. There is blood there. He must have hit his head on the rocks. A common way to go. 

Chaeryeong wonders if the head wound will claim him or if, perhaps, one of his broken ribs punctured a lung. She wonders if anyone else from his crew survived, but she knows the answer to that question. The only sounds around her are the wind, the water lapping at what remains of the ship, the rough heaving sound of the man coughing up an impressive amount of seawater onto the rocks.

He shifts to lay on his back, head thrown to the side and eyes screwed shut against the unforgiving sun. Chaeryeong’s gaze catches on the tendon straining in his neck, on the way he gulps in a wheezing breath once, twice. He is still alive. He is very much alive. Chaeryeong watches.

When the man opens his eyes, they’re the dark, rich brown of the earth, piercing even as they blink out of semi-consciousness. He stares at her, the corner of his lips curling up into a wry smile. Chaeryeong’s heart stutters in her chest.

“You just gonna watch me die, or do you think you could speed it along for me with those talons of yours?” His voice is low but not too low, rough as it scrapes out of his damaged throat.

Chaeryeong shrinks back onto her perch, wraps her wings tighter around herself. She doesn’t know the last time she was spoken to, doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know why the sailor isn’t scared, isn’t begging, isn’t looking up to the gods for their mercy.

“Wouldn’t mind another song,” he continues, undeterred by her silence, “Worse ways to go.”

A chuckle, a cough, more saltwater splattering onto the rocks, rocks that are slick with the blood of his brothers. The sailor doesn’t seem to notice or care. He stares up at Chaeryeong for one more endless moment before his eyes finally slide shut in surrender. Chaeryeong thinks she should leave. She normally likes to see if there is anything left to salvage from the wreck, any trinkets or oddities, but she thinks she should get away as fast as she can. Instead of listening to her instincts, Chaeryeong watches, unable to tear herself away from the sight of the dying man.

And then, he begins to hum a broken tune, rough voice cutting through the sound of the sea, and reaching Chaeryeong’s perch with ease. She thinks he’s humming to himself. She thinks his song most definitely is not for her. And yet, she listens.

Calluses and scars. Arms strong from rowing, nimble fingers and rough workman's hands. Chaeryeong removes the sailor’s waterlogged clothes, revealing golden skin, freckled from the sun. She can’t help but feel watched, even in the safety of her eyrie, even in the seclusion of Anthemusa where not even the gods check on her. She doesn’t know why she brought the man here, doesn’t know why she gathered his limp body in her arms and flew him to her home instead of leaving him to die surrounded by the broken wood and broken bodies of his ship.

There is a long strip of fabric wrapped around his torso, dirty and sodden but well-secured, tied off with care. Chaeryeong unravels it, revealing blooming purple bruises, lines of muscle, and softness where she did not expect to find softness. She pauses, fingers hovering over the exposed skin. The sailor does not have the body of a man. 

Gender means little to Chaeryeong, but she’s intrigued all the same. It’s been so long—more years than she cares to count—since she felt true interest in anyone or anything. But this person…she just wants to know who they are. First, the way they looked at her, the way they spoke to her. Second, their song. And now…this. There’s a spark of curiosity in her chest, a flare of purpose. She’ll never answer any of the questions she has if the sailor dies, so she gets to work.

She first lays the fabric out to dry next to the sailor’s clothes. The sun is strong where it hits them on the outcropping at the mouth of her cave, but she’ll probably have to wring them out later. Perhaps she’ll even fly them down to the stream and rinse them off if she has the energy. For now, she carries on with what she was doing. She dries the sailor’s skin and applies what salves she has from her own gathering, chopping, heating, mixing.

She digs around in a trunk of fabric and, for the first time, is glad for the odds and ends she’s salvaged from years’ worth of shipwrecks. It’s rarely been of use to her, but she’s enjoyed collecting whatever catches her eye, and now she finally has a use for some of it. 

She wraps the sailor’s broken ribs with a fresh binding, sure that it’s better than nothing, and throws a makeshift blanket over their prone form. They’re still breathing, chest rising and falling like they’re merely sleeping after a long day of rowing. They look peaceful despite their circumstances.

Chaeryeong brushes the wet hair from their forehead, dabs some blood away from their temple, and stares. Their lips have this perfect arch, reminiscent of Eros’ bow, and a thin, long-healed scar cuts through their right eyebrow. There’s a mole on their left cheek, and Chaeryeong pokes it because she can and because she knows they won’t wake up. The skin is soft. The sailor doesn’t stir. 

They smell like iron and salt, but there’s a hint of something delicate and different and warm under the shipwreck scent. Chaeryeong licks her lips, she trails her fingers down from the sailors cheek to the base of their throat. Their pulse is steady, strong, defiant. 

“Who are you?” Chaeryeong asks, the spoken words strange on her tongue. 

The sailor sleeps for three days and three nights. Chaeryeong keeps watch, leaving only to hunt and stretch her wings. It both feels like they’ll wake up at any second and like they’ll sleep forever. Chaeryeong doesn’t know which she would prefer. On the one hand, she wants to hear that low voice again, wants to see if the brown of their eyes is as rich as she remembers. (Also, it would feel foolish to attempt to save someone for the first time only for them to die in their sleep). On the other hand, what does she even do with a human? How does she even talk to one? She’s not scared, of course, but she is…anxious. Yes, that’s the word. Chaeryeong is anxious.

Chaeryeong returns from a brief flight one stormy morning to find the sailor awake. They’re sitting up, leaning against the cave wall, blanket pooled around their hips, mouth hanging open as they take in their surroundings. Chaeryeong shakes the rainwater from her wings and watches the way they notice her presence, the way their mouth slams shut and their eyes snap to stare up at her. They’re a loamy brown like Chaeryeong remembers, the brown that you find when you dig deep into the earth. Their shape reminds her of Apollo and his wolves—watchful, sharp. The sailor blinks at her, rubs at their eyes, blinks again. Chaeryeong thinks she should say hello, but no words leave her lips.

“Hello,” the sailor says.

And, oh, there’s that low voice. It’s smoother now that their throat is no longer scraped raw, hushed and cautious. She finds herself wondering if the sailor can sing.

Instead of asking that or any of her other questions, she says, “Hello.”

A howl of wind. The rain grows heavier. There is no thunder but there will be. Chaeryeong folds her wings against her back, and those dark eyes track every movement, quick and alert.

“So you’re real then?” they ask, “Not some cruel trick?”

Chaeryeong walks further into the cave, into its safety and warmth, towards the stranger she brought here. Her talons scrape against the rock. The sailor doesn’t seem afraid. Chaeryeong thinks that they should probably be afraid.

“As real as you are, I suppose,” she finally replies.

The sailor chuckles, but there’s a dark edge to the sound, ever more intriguing.

“I’m as real as they come.”

That you are, Chaeryeong thinks. Real and alive and in one of the last places any human should be. Did the gods bring them here? The Fates? Or is Chaeryeong the only one to blame? Before she can even begin to answer that question, the sailor is attempting to stand up. They move too suddenly for her to warn them that they should be careful. They realize the hard way, hand flying up to grab their side the second they put too much weight on their left arm.

“Fuck,” they hiss.

“You’re injured.”

“No shit,” they bite out, and then, “Sorry, that’s no way to speak to a lady. It’s just—gods, that hurts.”

Chaeryeong’s mouth opens, closes, opens again. She doesn’t think anyone’s ever called her a “lady” before. She supposes she’s female, supposes she looks like a human woman aside from the wings and the talons and the scattering of feathers. Still… lady? All of a sudden, everything feels like too much. Perhaps this was a mistake. 

The sailor is far too preoccupied by their own state to be bothered by her silence. They prod at the broken ribs, mouth twisted into a grimace, brow furrowed. There are various scrapes that Chaeryeong hopes aren’t infected, one particular gash on their upper arm that she did her best to treat with hands unused to caring for others. They touch their bandaged head and suck in a sharp breath. 

“Did you dress my wounds?”

Chaeryeong sits down on the stone floor, both to rest and to get on the sailor’s level. She’s tired of looming, it’s giving her a headache. She doesn’t speak because the answer is obvious. She expects a “why” that she can’t answer. Because why did she? Because she was curious? Because she was bored? Because of the way they had smiled and laughed as they so calmly asked for death?

“So, you’ve seen, then.”

“I’ve seen…”

Chaeryeong’s eyes refocus on the sailor. She takes in the way they have an arm crossed protectively over their chest, their steady gaze holding a challenge. It clicks. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” She waves a hand. “If you’re a man, you’re a man. If you’re—”

“No!”

Chaeryeong jumps, her hand flying up to her heart. She bristles at the outburst, her feathers ruffling, wings stirring up a sudden wind in the cave, a small mirror of the tempest howling outside.  

“No,” the sailor continues at a much more acceptable volume, “I’m not a man, I…I’ve been living as one for years, and it’s…” They shake their head and laugh, the sound bordering on delirious. 

They sit in silence for a long moment. There is thunder now. The storm is going to last for a few days. She can hear the whipping of the tree branches even from all the way up here. 

“My name is Yeji. My mother’s daughter against all odds.”

“Chaeryeong,” Chaeryeong says. 

It’s the first time she’s heard her name out loud in more years than she’d care to count. It feels odd falling from her lips. 

“Chaeryeong,” Yeji repeats, rolling the syllables around on her tongue as if she’s tasting them, “Pretty.”

She smiles, but her eyes are clouded with pain and fatigue in equal parts. She’s leaning heavily against the wall now too. Chaeryeong has more questions than she knows how to voice. 

“Let me get you some water.”

She ends up holding the cup to Yeji’s lips as she takes small sips. She’d tried to drink on her own at first but had trembled so badly that she spilled all over herself. The helpless smile and the muttered “sorry” were enough for Chaeryeong to not mind the chore. 

Yeji passes out after a few sips. Chaeryeong cradles the back of her head as she lowers her to the ground. 

Chaeryeong spends as much time as she can away from the eyrie over the next few weeks. She flies, she hunts, she waits for ships that never come, she avoids Yeji. For what it’s worth, the sailor is easy to avoid. She’s usually asleep—her exhausted body focused on knitting bone and mending flesh. 

She slinks back in from time to time with fresh fish, water, herbs. She changes crusted bandages, holding her breath, attempting not to wake her. She thinks that Yeji is sometimes lucid at these times—merely pretending to rest—and she’s glad for it. 

She’s lost track of how many years (decades? Centuries?) it’s been since she lived with someone else. She knows how to sing men to their deaths, but she has no clue how you’re supposed to talk to them. Luckily, if Yeji is always unconscious (or pretending to be), she doesn’t have to confront that issue. 

Chaeryeong eventually has to confront the issue.

She returns to the eyrie one afternoon to find no sign of Yeji other than a poorly folded blanket. She wanders deeper into the cave but doesn’t need to poke around her stash or sleeping nook to know that the woman isn’t there. She drifts back out to the mouth of the cave and stands on the outcropping where she had first treated Yeji’s wounds. 

A disbelieving laugh bubbles up from her throat as she stares out at the comfortingly endless expanse of the sea. Now, how in Oceanus’s name does a human with barely mended ribs and a rattled skull disappear from the top of a nearly sheer cliff? She must be dead, a flattened mess of a thing so many meters below. That would be unfortunate (especially after all of her effort).

Chaeryeong dives off of the cliff, wings catching an updraft and slowing her descent. There’s nothing to see on the rocks below aside from a startled family of foxes. Well, there goes that theory. Yeji made it off of the cliff alive. That, or she was spirited away by some meddling god, which is possible but unlikely. She would notice such a disturbance, this island is her home and none can visit it without her knowing, not even the most powerful or self important among the pantheon.

She pretends she’s not incredibly relieved as she takes to the skies to search for Yeji. Anthemusa isn’t large, and Chaeryeong knows it so well she can tell when even a rabbit or petrel is out of place. It’s also a perfect day, and she can see for leagues. The sky is a crisp blue, and the sea is calm as she soars above it. Chaeryeong loves to sing in this weather. She loves how far her voice carries, how it mingles with the scattered cries of the seabirds. Yeji came to her on a similar day. Just how far had her crew been when they’d first heard her song?

She finds Yeji soon enough, in the field of flowers not far from the base of her cliff. She doesn’t often go to the field herself—there are too many memories—but she does enjoy gazing down at the bold reds and soft pinks from above. The rustic brown of Yeji’s clothing stands out like a long-healed scar among the cheerful blooms. Chaeryeong is glad she took the time to wash it in the stream. If she hadn’t it would be stiff with salt and rancid with blood instead of simply frayed and torn.

She lands a couple of meters away from where Yeji is kneeling among the flowers, the wind from her wings ruffling her short, messy hair and gusting through the proud stalks. She sinks her talons into the soil. It’s the softest earth on an island made mostly of rock and the trees that manage to thrive there. Yeji looks up at her, not at all shocked by her sudden landing. Her eyes are red-rimmed and fuzzy around the edges in a way that softens her proud features. She’s on her knees, but her broad shoulders and strong neck keep her from looking small.

“So many windflowers,” she breathes, voice tinged with reverence, “Makes me think of the village where I grew up. I used to sit like this for hours, just staring at the petals.”

“How did you even get down here?” Chaeryeong asks, not in the mood to talk about flowers.

“I climbed.”

Chaeryeong looks to the cliff, and Yeji follows her gaze up up up. Seems that humans truly are as unwise as she’s always assumed. Taking their ships near her island despite the stories, clambering down cliffs when they were lying broken on the shore not even a month ago. It’s all the same. Foolish. Chaeryeong sighs, yet another headache on the horizon. She massages her forehead with a tired hand.

“You’re injured,” she scolds, “You’ll never heal if you’re reckless like this.”

Yeji stands up with a grunt and winces, her hand coming to gingerly hold her ribs. It strikes Chaeryeong that this is the first time they’ve stood next to each other. Yeji is only taller than her by a hair, but she’s broad about the chest and shoulders in a way that makes her seem larger than she is. She practically shines in the sunlight despite the gauntness of her cheeks and the pallor of her brow. She is very much of the earth even though Chaeryeong lured her in from the sea. 

“Yeah,” she chuckles, “I definitely fucked something up on my way down.”

She smiles a rakish smile, revealing a deep dimple in her cheek, but Chaeryeong can see how pained and uneven her breaths are. She shakes her head, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to feel. 

“Besides,” Yeji continues, gesturing around them with the arm that isn’t cradling her injury, “You can’t expect me to look at this every day and not come down here.”

Her younger sister had been the same way. Always sitting among the flowers with her flute. Chaeryeong would join her at times, luxuriating in the sunlight and her crystalline melodies. She hasn’t thought of those days so vividly in a long, long time. She sighs once more. 

“Let me fly you next time, at least. I’ll have done all of this for nothing if you smash your thick skull on a rock and die.”

The words are needlessly harsh, but Chaeryeong is tired, and she doesn’t like how worried she felt during the small stretch of time when Yeji was missing. Yeji stares at her for a long moment, her gaze soft and curious. 

“Okay,” she says.

“Once you’re healed you can do what you like.”

“Okay.” And then, “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Chaeryeong feels the way her feathers ruffle in agitation. (She hates that she can’t control that, hates that it can give away what she’s feeling).

“I wasn’t worried,” she huffs, “Just…no more foolishness.”

Yeji accepts her answer with a curt nod before admitting, “I don’t think I can get back up there.”

Chaeryeong only hesitates for a heartbeat before scooping Yeji up, one arm looped around her back and the other hooked under her legs. She gasps and then lets out a startled whoop as Chaeryeong flaps her wings once, twice, three times, launching them up into the windless sky. Yeji spends the short flight with her face buried into the crook of Chaeryeong’s neck and her arms wrapped tight around her shoulders. She holds her breath the entire time, and Chaeryeong can feel the way her heart pounds in her chest.

It’s a short flight, but Yeji is shaking like a leaf by the time Chaeryeong places her carefully on her feet. Her eyes are comically wide, mouth hanging open, cheeks flushed a vibrant pink. Chaeryeong snorts out a laugh. She should have expected this reaction, she doubts Yeji has spent much time in the air.

“Easier than climbing, no?” she teases, spurred on by Yeji’s wordless shock.

“You’re so strong!” Yeji finally exclaims.

Chaeryeong laughs a true laugh both because she wasn’t expecting that and because she’s no stronger than she’s supposed to be. Her younger sister was stronger than her, her older sister weaker. Her father is a river, her mother is a Muse. She supposes she got the strength from him, since the voice is from her, but she’d never stopped to think about it.

“I’m sure you are as well,” she says, since Yeji is still staring at her in awe, “You have rather impressive muscles.”

Yeji is the one to laugh this time, her mouth splitting into a toothy grin that shows off surprisingly sharp canines. There’s a glint in her eyes and a new lightness to her being.

“You’ve been looking at my muscles?”

“No,” Chaeryeong lies, unsure why heat is coming to her face.

Yeji barks out another laugh (are all sailors this loud when they’re not under her spell?) and leans against the mouth of the cave, arms crossed loosely in front of her chest.

“Didn’t know sirens were liars.”

Oh, the nerve of this… Chaeryeong can’t tell if she’s embarrassed or annoyed. Whichever unfamiliar emotion it is, she doesn’t like it at all. She flicks a wing to send a targeted gust of wind towards Yeji who just continues grinning at her even as she blinks dirt out of her eyes.

“Don’t make me regret saving your life.”

“Why did you?” Yeji asks, voice suddenly serious, “Why did you save me?”

If only she had an answer to that question. Why do something that goes against her nature for the first time in her life? Others have survived the initial crash, there were even those her older sister allowed onto the island to perish there, unwanting of food as they listened to her song and slowly wasted away. Chaeryeong would watch her do this and shrug. Sometimes she would join in, but only when the song her sister was plucking on the lyre was particularly moving. 

“Do you not want to be alive?” she asks in lieu of an answer.

Yeji continues to look at her, eyes narrowed. Chaeryeong waits for her to challenge the obvious avoidance, to demand an answer instead of a question. It’s silent for a long moment, tense, the air still around them, the island holding its breath. Eventually, Yeji’s shoulders relax and the corners of her lips soften.

“Thank you,” is all she says. 

They spend more time together after that. It’s interesting to exist alongside someone else. Hearing their sighs and the way they roll over in their sleep. Growing used to their scent and the boom of their laugh. Chaeryeong wonders what habits of hers, what quirks, Yeji is growing used to as the days pass. Does she keep a running log of her observations like Chaeryeong does? Plucking moments to turn over in her mind as she perches on her favorite tree and thinks?

Like the way Yeji’s face lit up when she ate the first fig of the season, fresh from the tree. The way she laughed with so much joy she almost cried when Chaeryeong brought her to the stream to wash herself. The way she insisted on staying in the water for so long that Chaeryeong grew bored and left to stretch her wings. Yeji had been shivering and shriveled when she finally returned, grinning even as her teeth chattered.

“Thank the gods for clean water,” she’d laughed, “And thank you, my lady, for putting up with my smell.”

Chaeryeong hadn’t had a problem with Yeji’s smell, but she’d laughed with her all the same. Though, now that she’s clean, she has a pleasant musk. It’s warm, but there’s a sharpness to it that Chaeryeong finds herself seeking out when they’re close. 

Yeji heals well, growing stronger every day. It’s not long before she fully abandons her bandages and Chaeryeong wakes to the sound of her exercising in the mornings. It’s fascinating to watch her grow more energetic—more confident in her step and large in her movements—now that she’s in less pain. She was already a vibrant presence, but Chaeryeong enjoys the easy way she takes up space, her comfort in her body and in the way she uses it. 

After Chaeryeong gives Yeji free reign to dig around in her stash, she outfits herself in a green chiton that’s in surprisingly decent condition after she beats the dust from it with a stick. She also fashions a rough chlamys (with the help of Chaeryeong’s razor-sharp talons for want of scissors) that she rarely remembers to wear. The whole ensemble is rather handsome, though Chaeryeong did quite enjoy the way her old, torn clothes made her resemble an unfortunate piece of driftwood.

She still lets Chaeryeong fly her down from and back up to the eyrie without complaint, eventually even gazing about in awe when they’re in the air (though her body remains stiff, her grip strong). Chaeryeong enjoys that there is less fear, enjoys the breathless, crooked smile Yeji aims at her whenever her feet return to the earth.

That smile makes her feel safe enough to ask, “What did you hear when you heard my song?” after a flight to the northernmost tip of the island one afternoon.

Yeji cocks her head and straightens her clothes. “Whatever you sang I suppose.”

Anthemusa is narrow over here and usually windy. Chaeryeong wraps her wings around herself against a sudden gust.

“Everyone hears something different. Whatever they most desire. What did you hear?” she presses.

Yeji’s eyes dart away from her face and back. It’s a subtle movement, a flicker, but Chaeryeong catches it all the same.

“Riches and power,” she answers with a shrug, tone bleeding nonchalance, “Exactly what you’d expect from someone like me.”

“Show me where my ship crashed,” Yeji demands far too early one morning, “Please.”

Chaeryeong blinks at her as she processes her words. She’d been busy watching a rabbit hop around far below. It was just getting good too.

“What?” she says.

“I’d like to see where it happened.”

It’s a quick flight to the western shore where Yeji washed up. Chaeryeong sets her down exactly where she’d first found her, making sure her footing is steady on the slick, uneven rocks. She watches her face closely, not sure what she’s expecting to find there. Yeji’s expression is contemplative, her brow heavy as she stares at the water. There are no bodies, of course, not after so much time has passed. Whatever remained of Yeji’s crew was sucked down into the depths weeks ago, their bodies and valuables claimed by those who reside there.

“Who were they?” Chaeryeong asks.

“Pirates,” Yeji responds, “As am I.”

Chaeryeong can’t help but be surprised. She doesn’t keep her finger on the pulse of the convoluted intricacies of humanity and the way they hurt their own, but she has found that particular breed of human to be…less savory than some others. Yeji curses like a pirate for sure, she talks with her mouth open when she eats and is far louder than Chaeryeong would prefer at times when she speaks, but she carries herself with an almost noble air. She’s not aggressive or cruel. She’s gentle, grounded…sad.

“I hated them,” Yeji mutters, “I loved them too, in a sense. Wouldn’t have survived this long if I hadn’t, but it was never… If they’d known I’m not a man they…”

She grows quiet and still, eyes locked on the water lapping at the base of the rocks. Chaeryeong waits. The more Yeji reveals about herself, the more questions it raises. She knows she could simply ask, pry, demand knowledge in return for her mercy, but she prefers it like this. Prefers the small ways in which Yeji lays herself bare. Being near-immortal has made Chaeryeong incredibly patient. Still, she feels that she should say something.

She settles on, “I’m sorry I killed them.”

Yeji huffs out a laugh and looks at her with alarmingly gentle eyes. She reaches out, and Chaeryeong has to stop herself from flinching as she smooths down a disheveled patch of feathers on her left wing.

“You’re not sorry, and I’m not asking you to be.” A soft smile. “That would be like asking a fire to apologize for the way it burns or asking a bird to apologize for taking flight, would it not?”

And then, before Chaeryeong can even begin to formulate a response other than open-mouthed silence, Yeji is stripping down to her loincloth and diving into the calm waters. Chaeryeong’s wings twitch as she prepares herself to follow and snatch her from Poseidon’s clutches if need be, but Yeji surfaces a moment later, looks around, submerges again. She’s an unsurprisingly strong swimmer, and the sea seems content to let her have her way. Chaeryeong watches as she explores the rocky shore.

An axe, a knife, a strange circular device that Chaeryeong has seen the like of before but never known the purpose of. (It’s called an astrolabe, Yeji will later explain, voice hushed, a chart of the stars that allowed their navigator to steer the ship true). Yeji retrieves these items one by one, placing them on the rocks by her talons before finally hauling herself out of the water with a grunt. She gives her head a violent shake, and Chaeryeong has to throw up a wing to keep the droplets of saltwater from spraying into her face.

“This was all I could find,” Yeji explains.

“Was it yours?”

“Is now I suppose.” She rakes long fingers through her wet hair. “One last thing and we can go home.”

Chaeryeong ends up flying up to her perch to watch whatever Yeji is up to. She slips back into her clothes, seemingly uncaring of the fact that she’s still dripping wet, and produces a heavy, palm-sized pouch from her cloak. Chaeryeong remembers finding it secured to her waist when she’d first undressed her. She’d placed it to the side and forgotten it soon enough, focused as she was on Yeji’s injuries. 

Yeji fumbles a bit as she undoes the tight leather tie. She sticks her hand into the opening and pulls out a fistful of coins. Chaeryeong doesn’t know how much the money is worth, but she feels the gravity of it as Yeji scatters the metal pieces into the sea. Lured by the promise of riches yet so easily casting her own into the abyss. Curious.

Yeji keeps her voice low, but Chaeryeong’s keen ears are able to pick up her clumsy yet earnest funeral rites. Her voice is fervent as she apologizes to Charon for the delay and implores him for late passage across Styx for her fallen brothers. She cuts quite a figure against the backdrop of blue, her straight-backed form both defiant and serene as she bows her head in a final show of respect.

“Didn’t you hate them?” Chaeryeong calls before she can stop herself.

“And yet they lived.” Yeji looks up at her, squinting against the late morning sun. “Besides, money is of no use to me here.”

That may be true, but what about after this? No human would want to remain on this island with nothing but a reclusive siren and her ghosts. No one with a fit body, keen eye, and curious mind would be content with this. 

“I think I’d like to walk back,” Yeji says, fastening the knife to her belt, “I’ll meet you there if you don’t mind.”

It turns out Yeji loves to walk. Chaeryeong will fly her down from the eyrie in the morning and find her still wandering the island hours later. She’s as fond of being beneath the trees as she is of being on the shore or lying among the flowers. Some days she’ll sit somewhere high up and stare at the horizon for hours on end, and others she’ll splash about so much in the stream that the birds will find Chaeryeong to complain of the noise. She can’t find it in herself to be annoyed despite the disturbance to her usual peace. 

It’s on one of their quiet days that Chaeryeong finds Yeji sitting with her back against a sturdy tree, face painted with focus as she carves a small piece of wood with a startling amount of precision. She’s dappled in sunlight, and the summer air is heavy and sweet with the smell of fruit. Chaeryeong makes sure to brush her wings against the branches as she approaches, not wanting to startle Yeji while she handles her knife.

“Ryeong,” she greets without looking up, “One moment, I’m almost done.”

It’s odd to have a nickname. Yeji had insisted upon it a few nights ago, and Chaeryeong had seen no reason to fight it. It seemed like an odd, pointless human ritual at first, but every time Yeji looks at her with those deep eyes and says “Ryeong” she feels hyper-aware of the way her heart beats in her chest. It’s a strange feeling but not an unwelcome one.

Yeji eventually looks up at her with a small smile. She places the knife to the side but leaves whatever she was carving hidden in her lap. Chaeryeong cranes her neck to see, but Yeji shifts how she’s sitting, blocking her view.

“Going for a stroll?” she asks, voice bright.

Chaeryeong tries once more to get a glimpse, but Yeji pulls her legs closer. Fair enough then. She gives up and sits down on a stump. Yeji is as patient as ever as she waits for a response to her incredibly normal question. Chaeryeong takes her in, struck as she sometimes is by how odd it is to have her here. Her hair has grown out a bit, shaggy and thick now that it’s not cropped quite as short. It falls in her eyes often, but she never seems to notice, simply brushing it away without a thought (just as she’s doing now). 

Anthemusa has been kind to her, the trees heavy with fruit and the stream rich with fish in a way that Chaeryeong has never known them to be. Her cheeks have filled out and taken on a new healthy hue. Her jaw is sharp as ever, her nose straight and proud, her neck strong, and her eyes unbelievably soft. Chaeryeong finds herself thinking that Yeji must be more handsome than the finest of the gods. She finds herself making note to never say such a thing out loud, for even thinking it is foolish in its own right.

Yeji is carving again, seemingly fine with being both ogled and ignored. Chaeryeong still can’t see what she’s working on, but she can see how confident and practiced her hands are. 

“Where did you learn how to do that?”

“My father.” A simple answer, but Yeji’s voice is heavy, eyes locked on her work. “He was a retired shipwright, a woodworker by trade. He taught me what he knew when he wasn’t too busy beating me.”

A father laying hands on a child. Chaeryeong was never close enough with her own for it to be an issue. She knows it happens as often among men as it does among the gods, but it’s never made any sense to her. She could never imagine harming one of her sisters—her own blood—and she didn’t even sire them. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathes.

Yeji shrugs, seemingly unbothered, but Chaeryeong can see the way her knuckles are white, her jaw clenched.

“My mother died giving birth to me. Guess he needed someone to take it out on.” She puts the knife down and finally looks at Chaeryeong, but her eyes are distant, looking to another place, another time. “Besides, I buried him a long time ago. Right before I left for good.”

Chaeryeong does not ask Yeji how her father died. She does not ask how she ended up living as a pirate when it seems she’d rather use her callused hands to create than to do harm. She doesn’t ask her how long ago she left her village with its windflowers and its bitter memories or what led to her leaving.

“What are you carving?” she asks instead.

Yeji’s eyes light up a bit, coming back into focus as the corner of her lips pulls up into the hint of a smile.

“You had perfect timing actually. It’s for you.”

Chaeryeong holds her breath as she takes the palm-sized statuette from Yeji’s hands. It’s a fox, sitting alert, tail curled around its paws. If she looks closely enough she can see its whiskers and the texture of its fur. 

“Why…?”

“Has no one ever told you that you look like a fox?” Yeji cocks her head, a pout on her lips, eyebrows raised.

“Not…a bird?”

“You should use that mirror of yours more often if you think you look anything like a bird.” She stands up, cracks her neck on one side and then the other. “Fly me home?”

Chaeryeong has many…things in her collection. Trinkets, baubles, trunks full of fabric, and items long forgotten. She doesn’t keep track at all, really. Something will catch her eye enough for her to pluck it from the water, and she’ll fly it home, stash it in the offshoot of her cave where she puts all such things, and promptly forget about it. (That’s exactly what she did with Yeji, in a sense—up to the forgetting—but that’s neither here nor there).

Chaeryeong has many things, but there are only a few objects that she truly cherishes and thinks of as her own. In fact, she can count them on one hand, even with the addition of the little wooden fox that she now keeps near her nest.

One of her treasures is her mirror. She’s had it for as long as she’s existed, and it’s remained untarnished and pure. She likes to gaze at herself in its perfect surface, in her cave, out in the sun, in the shade of a fig tree. She uses it less now than she used to—seeing as she has someone other than herself to look at—but she still sits in front of it every morning and night when she combs her hair. Her comb is another precious belonging, one that she’s had since the beginning. It’s pearlescent, made of seafoam and starlight.

Her final two treasures are more precious than any others, but Chaeryeong prefers not to look at them or think about them at all. Unfortunately, it appears that today that won’t be possible.

She’s returning to the eyrie from a day of solitude (as much as Yeji makes life more interesting, she’s not sure she’ll ever be entirely used to sharing her space like this) when she’s assaulted by a hauntingly familiar sound. Her heart clogs her throat and her wings stutter, instinct alone steering her to the cave mouth. Her body is not her own as she lands. She barely remembers rushing into the cave—wings still unfurled—towards Yeji who is currently playing the lyre with great focus and poor technique.

Chaeryeong can barely hear the sound of the strings as she lunges towards Yeji and tears the instrument from her hands. All she knows is she needs to get it away from her. She can’t touch it, it’s not hers, it’s all she has left, it’s—

“Shit, Ryeong!”

Yeji’s face is pale, her eyes wide, hand fisted into the front of her chiton. The panic on her face is almost enough to bring Chaeryeong back down to earth, almost but not quite. Her talons are itching with the need to—no . She just needs to breathe. Her hands tremble as she cradles the lyre and steps away. She knows the instrument can’t break, but it still feels fragile in her arms.

“I never said you could touch that,” she spits, voice dripping venom.

“I’m sorry, I—” Yeji’s mouth opens and closes a few times as she finds her words, “You said I could use what I wanted. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

There’s an edge of fear to Yeji’s voice that Chaeryeong is lucid enough to notice. She doesn’t like it, doesn’t like that look on her face. She prefers when she’s smiling or gazing at her with calm curiosity. She attempts to steady her breathing and fold her wings, the feathers still standing on end.

“What were you even trying to do?”

“I wanted to play for you, but I’m not very good, so I’ve been practicing. I climb up sometimes and…” She takes a breath, clenches and unclenches her fists by her sides. “The girl I was courting before…before the pirates came to my village, she played the lyre, and she taught me a bit. She would always laugh at my clumsy fingers, but I enjoyed it, and I learned a little, and well… I just think it’s a shame that no one ever makes music for you.”

Chaeryeong turns away to place the lyre back in its spot next to the flute. (She only ever removes it when she has to dust it. Perhaps she should have noticed that she hasn’t had to do so since Yeji arrived.) Her hands are steady now despite the trembling of her heart. She takes a few deep breaths before turning back around. Yeji is watching her closely, wary but no longer truly afraid. Chaeryeong is just glad she has more self control than she did in her youth. Her talons are still itching with an unwelcome urge, but the feeling lessens the longer she looks into Yeji’s eyes. She makes a decision.

“My sister.”

“Your…”

“My older sister played the lyre, my younger sister played the flute, and I sang. That was hers.”

Chaeryeong doesn’t say how long ago she lost her sisters, doesn’t even attempt to communicate the grief she once felt and the hollowness that it hardened into after years rolled over into centuries. She doesn’t say any of that, but Yeji seems to know. Her eyes drift over Chaeryeong’s shoulder to look at the instrument with a new level of reverence.

“Oh, Ryeong, I…if I’d known I wouldn’t have…But still, that explains a lot.”

She’s looking at Chaeryeong like she’s seeing her for the first time. Chaeryeong thinks she’s tired of being seen, but she finds herself seeking out those sad eyes all the same.

“What does it explain?”

“Why your song sounds so lonely.”

Chaeryeong doesn’t sleep that night. She flies, she walks, she thinks, she remembers. Her sisters. The way they loved, the way they fought, the way their lives were inextricably entangled until they were not.

When she returns to the eyrie at firstlight, it’s clear that Yeji didn’t sleep either. There are shadows under her eyes and small curls of wood scattered around her feet. Chaeryeong is too preoccupied by the painfully delicate look on her face to wonder what she’d been carving, to wonder what answers she was seeking from the astrolabe that’s lying in her lap.

She sees no need to speak as she retrieves the lyre. The wood is warm to the touch, perhaps a sign that she’s doing the right thing, perhaps a natural result of the steadily progressing summer. Yeji tracks her every move, wolf-like eyes glinting in what pale light manages to reach into the cave.

When Chaeryeong places the lyre in Yeji’s hands, all signs of fatigue leave her body. She holds it close to her chest as she stands up, the question in her eyes never reaching her tongue. Chaeryeong answers it with a nod. 

Yeji’s fingers are awkward on the strings, her technique poor and her songs suited for children, but the lyre is happy to be played. It’s odd to hear music coming from somewhere other than her own throat, but it’s enjoyable once her heart is no longer pounding in her ears and her sharp nails are no longer digging into her palms. She enjoys the tinkling sound of the strings, the furrow in Yeji’s brow and the focused twist of her lips. 

Yeji never touches the lyre again without Chaeryeong’s permission or outright request, but it becomes a regular part of their days after that. Yeji improves over time, especially once Chaeryeong starts giving her pointers, readjusting her fingers on the strings with a light touch. She’ll never create the kind of music that her sister did, but Chaeryeong grows to love the tunes she picks out, the way she relaxes and grows more confident as the days pass. 

The first time Chaeryeong raises her voice in song alongside her, Yeji’s fingers falter, and she looks up at her with so much unbridled excitement and awe that it takes Chaeryeong’s breath away. 

In the quiet moments after they make music together, Chaeryeong will sometimes find it in herself to tell Yeji an anecdote about her sisters or sing her the verse of a song they once sang together. 

Yeji will return her vulnerability with a story about the lyre playing girl or the boy who lived down the road. The grandma who she helped every market day, so she wouldn’t strain her already bent back and the fisherman who taught her how to cast a line and handle a spear. 

Chaeryeong can tell that it’s hard for both of them, but she thinks that’s what makes it possible. They’re both trying to close wounds long-ignored. 

Chaeryeong is quite fond of her beauty sleep (and sleep in general). That being said, she’s a fairly light sleeper. It had taken her some time to get used to Yeji’s breathing, shuffling, and slurred sleep talk. She’d had her number of irritable mornings in the beginning, but it’s better now. Most nights it’s easy to ignore, the noise blending with the rush of the sea, the rustling of leaves. Tonight, however, Chaeryeong can’t seem to fall asleep.

She’s comfortably wrapped in her wings, cozy in the security of the sequestered niche that is her nest. It’s nice to have her solitude, even as she wonders what Yeji must look like at this very moment. She’s made her own human nest of sorts in the corner of the main chamber of the cave. She’s out of sight, but Chaeryeong can hear the way she shifts, sighs, shifts again. And then—

“Ryeong.”

Chaeryeong blinks her eyes open, easily lured away from her troubled journey towards Hypnos’s realm. She half thinks she imagined the voice, but it comes again.

“Are you awake?”

Chaeryeong peeks through an opening in her feathers and is met with the expected darkness. The air smells like deep night.

“I am,” she says.

“Would you sing for me?”

That’s…perhaps the last thing Chaeryeong was expecting to hear. Yeji is fond of music in a way Chaeryeong hadn’t realized she needed, but not to the point of asking for a song in the middle of the night. 

“I’m not sure I know any lullabies,” Chaeryeong mumbles, “Perhaps I can teach you a new song tomorrow.”

It’s quiet for long enough that she assumes Yeji has finally fallen asleep. She huffs out a breath and attempts to get comfortable, sleep still just out of reach.

“Not that,” Yeji’s low voice cuts through the night again, “I want you to sing me your siren song.”

Any semblance of tiredness is washed away by how alarming the request is. Surely she couldn’t mean…

“The song I sang when I sank your ship?” She thinks Yeji nods, wherever she is. “Why?”

“I just…” Shuffling. “I want to hear it again, I want to see…to see if the words have changed. It won’t hurt me right? You’ve already got me after all, what’s the worst that could happen, hm?”

Chaeryeong has known Yeji was lying about her desire for riches and power since the moment the words left her lips, and she’s even more sure of it now. But still, she can’t even begin to guess what she truly heard then or what she hopes to hear tonight.

“Please?” she pleads into the still air, “Please sing to me, Ryeong.”

So, against her better judgement, Chaeryeong sings. She doesn’t know how long she does so, easily losing herself in the power and pull of the familiar melody. She’s not sure what’s meant to happen when her voice isn’t wrapping its tendrils around the minds of unsuspecting men. There’s no rocky shore to break Yeji to pieces, no whorling waters to swallow her whole. Just them, and the stillness, and the silence. 

Even as Chaeryeong sings, she can hear the way Yeji moves just out of sight. She doesn’t know why her own heart quickens when she hears Yeji’s breath hitch, doesn’t know why her voice wavers when Yeji lets out a broken sigh. She can’t see Yeji, but she wants to. She wants to know what expression she’s wearing, how fast her heart is beating, how she might look at Chaeryeong if they were face to face.

And then Yeji is there, standing beneath her nest clad in nothing but her underclothes. The silver light of the moon has joined them, and it plays off of the lines of muscle in her abdomen, arms, calves, the tendon in her neck. She’s looking up at her, straight-backed and tall, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Chaeryeong stops singing.

“You were right,” Yeji starts, voice rough and low in the sudden quiet, “Your song really is about what one most desires.”

Chaeryeong’s mouth is dry, and she doesn’t know why. She knows that Yeji is looking at her with lidded eyes and gently parted lips. She knows that she likes it.

“What did you hear?”

The words are so hushed as they leave her lips that she’s surprised they even reach Yeji. Then again, the night is more silent than ever, as if the island is waiting, listening.

“Just now, you sang of all the ways I wish to be one with you.”

Chaeryeong has no words. The moment feels inevitable and impossible in equal parts. She’s caught Yeji staring at her before with a similar look to the one she’s wearing now. Evaluating, deep, hungry. She’s brushed it aside in the past, but can she really do so now when—

“I’d like to show you what I mean,” Yeji says, “If you’ll have me.”

Chaeryeong has been alive for centuries, but having Yeji in her nest with her warm smell and her large hands and her gentle eyes is like nothing she’s ever experienced. This shouldn’t be happening to her, she thinks, but Yeji is so confident in the way she holds her, so warm in the way she looks at her, that she realizes it couldn’t be happening to anyone else.

Chaeryeong has never been so consumed by another, has never felt her voice tumble from her lips in a way she can’t control. She tangles her fingers into thick locks, and Yeji gasps her name. She digs the sharpness of her nails into soft muscle, and Yeji groans in what can only be pleasure.

The brush of calluses along the base of her ribcage, the press of lips to her sternum, the way Yeji gazes up from between her legs, eyes so dark brown they’re black. The way Yeji sighs in ecstasy when she tastes her, the way she holds her close and steady when she comes undone on her tongue.

Chaeryeong tends to spend more time telling others their desires than she does indulging in her own, but tonight she lets herself want, lets herself have, lets herself meet Yeji’s lips with hunger again and again and again.

“I’d like to build something.”

Chaeryeong looks up from where she’s cooling her talons in the mouth of the stream to find Yeji walking towards her, axe hefted over her shoulder. 

“What could you possibly need to build?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

Yeji responds with a hard to read smile. “Secret. I won’t chop down too many of your trees, don’t worry.”

Chaeryeong gives her blessing despite the pit in her stomach, despite what she knows Yeji is going to do. It was only a matter of time until the shipwright’s daughter attempted to move on from this place. Chaeryeong has never wanted to leave Anthemusa (she doesn’t even know that she can, but that’s not important because she never would), and that’s no different now. This island is her home, her genesis, her heart. Yeji’s presence has been as fleeting as it is sweet, but she is not of this place. 

She knew Yeji would try to leave from the moment she first cradled her limp form in her arms. She knew, yet the reality of it still feels like a sudden and gaping wound. The inevitability of it all does nothing to quell the nausea that overcomes her or the way her heart twists in her chest. 

She ends up flying to the cliffs of the northernmost shore to be alone. The few trees that grow there are windblown and thin, and she is far from where she left Yeji with her axe and her eyes set on the horizon.

Chaeryeong wraps her wings tightly around herself and closes her eyes, willing the wind and the crashing surf to wash away her thoughts. She knew she likely wouldn’t survive Yeji’s leaving, but she didn’t think it would feel quite like this.

Yeji is a hard worker. She’s out every day chopping, hauling, measuring, thinking. Chaeryeong has far more experience sinking ships than she does building them, and Yeji is being clandestine about the whole thing, so she doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t ask why Yeji would work in the field instead of on the sheltered beach of the eastern shore. Perhaps it’s because she’ll miss the flowers.

As much as Chaeryeong tries to avoid watching Yeji work, she can’t manage to stay away all the time. The island is small, Yeji is magnetic, and she’s grown used to the time they spend together. It’s near impossible for her to tear her eyes away from Yeji when she comes across her stripped down to her underclothes because of the heat and hard labor. She wields her axe with strength, practice, and precision. Her confident grip, the cut and flex of her muscles, the droplets of sweat trickling down her back, her brow, the column of her throat.

Yeji will catch her staring and shoo her away with a, “quit your spying,” and a fond smile, Chaeryeong will laugh along with her as she flies away, until she remembers the reason for her covertness and begins to feel very small.

Yeji sings while she works. Shanties and songs from the country with simple yet satisfying structure and rhyme. Sometimes she’s quieter, humming along to the tune or muttering lyrics near forgotten. Sometimes she’s confident and loud, her powerful voice rising well above the treetops and reaching Chaeryeong no matter where she may be.

Despite Yeji’s…busy schedule, they continue to find the time to make music during the day (her fingers ever more confident on the strings) and at night (those same fingers circling, seeking, beckoning). Chaeryeong knows it’s foolish to indulge, yet she can’t find it in herself to stop.

When she invites Yeji to her nest, it’s not to sate her newly awakened carnal desire—as enjoyable as that may be—it’s because of everything else. It’s because of the way Yeji looks at her like she’s never seen someone more beautiful. Because of the way Yeji touches her like she’s something precious. Because of the way Yeji falls deep asleep afterwards, loose-limbed, trusting, and so so mortal.

Chaeryeong will drink her in as late night bleeds into early morning. She’ll study the way the sun has burned her shoulders, the constellation of freckles on her back, the scattering of scars both old and new. She must be trying to commit everything to memory (though it’s unclear how long those memories will serve her). It’s funny, she thinks, how someone so transient can make the days feel like years well-lived.

Chaeryeong assumes her death will be painless. It likely won’t be pleasant, but she doesn’t imagine the word “pain” can aptly describe the sensation of turning to rock and mantle, of stretching beyond oneself, of finally becoming one with Anthemusa, one with her sisters. Despite the length of her life, despite the loss she’s experienced, she’s never felt ready to die. Not until now at least. 

Soon enough, Yeji will leave, and Chaeryeong will die.

She’s not being melodramatic or romantic (though she can admit that the fondness she feels towards Yeji far surpasses what she once thought herself capable of), she’s simply stating the truth. Sirens are fated to live only until the mortal who hears their song passes by unscathed. Chaeryeong can’t think of any reason for that to cease being true just because of Yeji’s extended stay.

Her growing acceptance of the end doesn’t help with the increasingly painful crawl of the days, however. She’s attuned enough with Yeji’s moods at this point to clearly see her growing focus, her drive, her excitement. She’s caught glimpses of her wooden structure. It’s strange, like nothing she’s ever seen before, but it’s clearly solid, made with care and intent. Made to last. 

Chaeryeong begins to stay far away from Yeji and the field and the eyrie. She leaves every morning before firstlight and comes back only once night has fallen. She passes her days in much the same way that she did before Yeji washed up on her shore. She flies, she sings, she watches, she waits, she gazes into her mirror and combs and combs and combs her hair. Sometimes she wonders where Yeji will go, what she will do, who she will meet. Sometimes she manages to not think of her at all.

(Not seeing Yeji during the day makes it near impossible to resist the lure of her when it's dark and still. They spend almost every night entangled. It’s easy not to think when she’s distracted by Yeji’s strong arms, soft lips, talented hands, and the sweetness of all of those miniature, impermanent deaths.)

Yeji doesn’t mention the sudden distance between them, but Chaeryeong has caught her glancing at the lyre with longing in her eyes. She woke up one morning—their legs still tangled together—to find Yeji staring at her with a similar yet unreadable look. When she raised her eyebrows in question, too groggy to remember to put up her guard, the woman just shook her head, pressed lips to her brow, and muttered something too quiet for her to hear.

The night before the day that everything would change is marked by an unshakeable restlessness all around. First, Anthemusa itself: the squall of the wind, the whipping of branches, the crashing of waves. It’s not quite a storm, as there’s no rain, but the air is unquiet, ill at ease. Normally, such weather would make the safety of Chaeryeong’s nest feel extra sheltered and calm, but there’s a storm of sorts inside as well. 

Yeji is a tempest. Chaeryeong has grown used to the way she softens and slows in the afterglow of ecstasy. The pleased shape of her smile and the slow blink of her eyes. She’s never awake for long, and Chaeryeong likes that she’s able to help bring her that peace. Tonight however, Yeji could not be less at peace. She tosses and turns, grumbles and sighs, presses the heels of her palms into her eyes and tugs at her hair. It’s not until approximately the fiftieth time she turns over that Chaeryeong finally loses her patience.

“What’s going on?” she snaps.

Yeji goes still at last. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

If only she’d been so fortunate. Even a few minutes of sleep would feel like a blessing at this point.

“Just…” She sighs. “Are you okay?”

Yeji shifts again, and Chaeryeong can tell she’s flipped over on her side and is staring at her in the darkness.

“I want to show you something tomorrow,” she breathes.

Oh. Chaeryeong hears herself say “okay,” but she’s in no control of the way the word falls from her lips, heavy between them. Yeji calms after that, finally drifting to sleep a few minutes later. Chaeryeong holds her tighter than ever that night, preparing herself to say goodbye.

It’s an infuriatingly beautiful day, clouds scudding across the sky, air sweet with the smell of salt and sun. It’s odd to gather Yeji in her arms and fly her down from the eyrie as she used to do so often. She’s grown used to leaving before she wakes and not returning until she must. The sensation leaves a bittersweet taste on her tongue.

Yeji insists they land at the base of the cliff and walk to the field together. Chaeryeong isn’t really in the mood for some grand reveal, but Yeji is almost childishly excited, so she indulges her with a sigh, touching down where directed and following behind her confident strides.

The walk itself is nice, at the very least. There’s something to be said for the way the windflowers reveal themselves through the trees, bright and tall and proud. Yeji comes to a stop at the edge of the treeline and looks back at Chaeryeong with a glint in her eyes and a hand outstretched. Her palm is as warm as Chaeryeong knows it to be, her fingers long as they intertwine with her own. The action stirs up an instinctual heat within her, and Chaeryeong has to push it down as she allows herself to be dragged along.

Grief, denial, anger. There are a plethora of emotions Chaeryeong was prepared to feel when she finally saw Yeji’s ship. She was sure it would overwhelm her in some way or another, but she hadn’t been ready for the feeling of pure confusion.

The ship is smaller than she expected it to be. It’s an odd shape as well, with far too many corners and sharp lines. Also, if Yeji thinks Chaeryeong is strong enough to help her move something like this to the shore, she’s got another thing coming. 

She could probably look more closely to figure out what she’s looking at, but she’s too busy turning to Yeji and demanding, “What in Oceanus’s name is this?”

The childlike smile slips from Yeji’s face, and she deflates a bit, always more fond of praise than critique. She scrubs a hand through her sleep-mussed hair, mouth twisting into a confused frown.

“Shit, I guess it could’ve turned out better, but there’s no need to be so harsh,” she grumbles.

Chaeryeong crosses her arms, feeling oddly defensive. “I just don’t see the purpose of such a thing.”

It’s quiet for a long, awkward moment. Yeji eventually laughs, but the sound is stilted and forced.

“Your cave is…well, it’s lovely, Ryeong, but it gets a bit damp, and sleeping there is really doing a number on my back. I’m not trying to get away from you, but I know you like your space, and…”

Chaeryeong doesn’t often get angry. There’s not usually a point, but—just like always—Yeji is managing to make her feel in ways she’s not accustomed to. She’s not mad because Yeji is insulting her home (though, truly, what was the reason), she’s mad because of how godsdamned confused she is, because Yeji is acting like she’s doing her a favor by leaving. It takes every ounce of her willpower to not thrash her wings in agitation and disrupt the peace of the sea of flowers around them.

“If you’re not trying to get away from me, then what’s the point of this?” She gestures at the strange not-quite-ship.

Yeji stares at her, mouth agape.

“You can literally see the house from the eyrie. Is this really so far? Should I have built it even closer?” She crosses her arms, brow furrowing. “If I sneezed loud enough, you’d hear me!”

“House?” Chaeryeong responds.

Yeji throws her hands up in the air, astounded. “Gods, Ryeong, is it really that badly built?”

Chaeryeong looks over Yeji’s shoulder at the…house. She supposes it looks close enough to how she assumes a house should look now that she thinks about it (she’s not well versed in the subject). That would also explain why Yeji built it so far inland, but it doesn’t really explain anything else. 

“What do you need a house for?”

Yeji smiles, but she looks a bit too queasy for the expression to be convincing. “Did I mention my back?”

It’s a clear attempt at humor that Chaeryeong is too preoccupied to entertain. She’s too busy processing what Yeji has done. Or what she hasn’t done, or isn’t going to do, or all of the above. 

“You’re not leaving?” she asks.

Yeji just blinks at her. “Where would I go?”

Chaeryeong looks around them, grasping for an answer to the baffling question. Yeji asked it so earnestly, so innocently, that she’s beginning to feel a bit insane.

“Anywhere!” she finally manages.

Yeji looks at her, eyes as sad as they are fond. “But this is where you are.”

The words should be exactly what she wants to hear, but they make no sense. Yeji wants to stay. Because of her. Hadn’t she left her home so many years ago to find purpose and success? How could she find either of those things here? How could a human want to live somewhere they never should have gone?

Chaeryeong isn’t dumb. She knows Yeji has real affection for her and for Anthemusa, but there’s so much more for her to experience in the world. Humans are restless, striving, struggling things, always looking for what’s better, for what’s next. It’s what sends so many of them through her waters despite the warnings, the stories, the fear. It’s exactly what sent Yeji to her on that fateful day. 

“Can we sit?”

Yeji’s words jolt Chaeryeong back to the strangeness of the present moment. She’s reaching out for her, waiting, hand outstretched. Chaeryeong accepts her touch, and they sit among the flowers. Yeji drops her hand and crosses her legs. She rests her elbow on her knee and her chin on her fist. Her gaze is serious and evaluating. 

“I’ve mentioned I’m from a small coastal village, right?”

Chaeryeong nods.

“Well, we were a village of fishermen and their wives, folk who hold proper respect for the sea and all of her dangers. We told stories about Scylla and Charybdis to scare naughty children, had a real fear of cetus lurking in the depths, whispered tales about the beautiful yet deadly sirens…” Yeji trails off, deep in thought. “I’ve always known it’s impossible to resist your lure, known you hold secrets that kings crave, known that if I leave this place, you’ll die.”

Chaeryeong’s heart stops. She didn’t know where Yeji was going with this, but she didn’t expect…well, she didn’t expect her to know. There’s a flare of anger in her chest, too sudden and violent to give further thought to. She stands up with a start, fists balled at her sides, nails biting into her palms. Even if a part of her wishes Yeji would stay, none of her wants it to be because of this.

“If you think you’re going to make some noble sacrifice and save my life, you’re more arrogant than I thought,” she hisses, “You think you’ll get a deluxe boat ride to Elysium if you spend the rest of your life wasting away here with me? You think I want that sort of thing? You think I want your pity?”

Yeji clambers to her feet, a stricken look on her face. She rakes a hand through her already messy hair, eyes wide and panicked.

“No!” 

Her shout is loud enough to shock Chaeryeong out of her tirade. She can feel the way her chest is heaving with heavy breaths, the way her heart pounds and her feathers stand on end. She would probably be a fearsome sight if Yeji was capable of being scared of her. 

“No,” Yeji repeats, gentle, “Ryeong, I…I never told you about when I first heard your song, did I?”

Chaeryeong deflates a bit, Yeji’s soft voice and the promise of the answer to one of her very first questions immediately soothing her. The instant balm on her emotions irks her in its own way, but she pushes that down, too curious to not hear what Yeji has to say. She shakes her head. 

“I lied when I said it was the promise of power and riches.”

“I know,” Chaeryeong snorts.

The corner of Yeji’s lips pulls up in the hint of a smile. She gestures for them to sit again, and Chaeryeong takes a deep breath before she follows.

“Your song…it told me that I would finally find safety, contentment, peace, love. Everything I’ve been seeking since I was old enough to want. And you were telling the truth. Everything I’ve been yearning for is right here. The flowers, the animals, the trees, the sea, you. It’s all here, Ryeong. This is the first time in my life that I’ve felt complete. Like…like I’m done searching.”

Chaeryeong’s mouth is too dry for her to speak, and her brain is too fuzzy to even begin to think of what to say. Yeji can speak with passion and ramble at times, but she’s never spoken like this, never cut deep into a vein and spilled out her heart in an honest, overwhelming gush like she’s doing now. Her eyes are a bit wild, and she’s gesturing with large, sweeping motions of her hands as she speaks. 

“I knew we were fucked the second our ship entered your waters, and I was ready for it. I’d spent my whole life waiting for death, you know, feeling it right on my heels. And then I opened my eyes, and there was water in my lungs, and everything hurt, and then I saw you, and…death didn’t feel so certain anymore.”

Chaeryeong wants to laugh, but she doesn’t know how. Nothing is funny, but everything feels like a joke. How could Yeji look up at her and her dark wings and feel safe? Then again, here she is now, very much alive and looking at her like she’s the reason. 

“Don’t you think the Fates took pity on us by bringing me here?” Yeji continues, undeterred by her silence, “I’ve had one foot in Styx for my entire life, and then you found me, and I finally get to live. Don’t you feel alive, Ryeong?”

“I do,” she whispers, the answer instant. 

Because it’s true. She’s been alive for longer than Yeji can fathom, but it’s been so long since she felt so much and so often. She’s enjoyed the peace of her endless days, but Yeji brings a depth and texture to everything she touches that Chaeryeong no longer knows how to live without. Her low voice and loud laugh, the way she thinks deeply and speaks honestly, her strong arms and dexterous hands. Those watchful eyes, soaking in the sun and staring deep into her like she knows her. 

Chaeryeong realizes she’s not ready to die. Not yet. 

“You’re really going to stay?” she asks. 

“Of course I’m going to stay, I—” She cuts herself off, shakes her head, says, “Can I kiss you?”

Chaeryeong is the one who ends up pulling Yeji in, threading fingers into her hair and looping a hand around her wrist. She thinks it will feel strange under the light of the sun and in front of the watching flowers, but Yeji’s lips are sweet and sure, her arms steady as they slip around her waist and hold her close. 

When Yeji licks into her mouth, Chaeryeong sighs. When Yeji digs her teeth into her lip, Chaeryeong wraps her arms around her as tightly as she can and launches them into the air. 

Yeji yelps in surprise, and then she’s laughing and breathless and beautifully, painfully alive. Chaeryeong laughs too, giddy with it, and the sea and sky and world are wide and calm around them. 

Yeji captures her lips once more, uncaring of how the island grows ever more distant below them, and Chaeryeong meets her in the middle, her heart thrumming with untapped song. 

She knows that Yeji will one day pass from this world, as is inevitable. She knows that she will follow soon after, as is fated. She hopes to be holding Yeji in her arms when the time comes. That way, when she becomes one with the island—when she becomes sea and stone—Yeji will as well. Blood and saltwater and earth and flesh. 

Later, they will enter Yeji’s house. It will smell of fresh lumber and stone, and Yeji will show her all that she built and tell her of all that she plans to. Chaeryeong will listen, and she will nod, and she will be too distracted by Yeji’s fingers intertwined with her own to actually hear a word. When Yeji realizes this, she will laugh and shake her head and look at her like she can read her mind. 

Chaeryeong will kiss her because she wants to and because she can. And then she will do more than kiss her because she wants to and because she can. And when they create music together, under the sun and under the roof that Yeji built, Chaeryeong will taste nectar for the first time in her godless life and want of nothing. 

Someone, I tell you, in another time,
will remember us.