DIANE

 resonance

You were only sixteen when that ship sank, and you along with it.  

You thought it was going to be cloudless day when you sailed away, and it was the furthest  you had ever sailed when father was not with you. You went further and further, in a rush to prove  to him that you were capable and independent, and that you were the rightful successor to the  throne—not a strange man whom you were about to marry.  

So preoccupied by what was on your mind, you never noticed the weather changing. When  you felt the first raindrop on your cheek, the sun was long gone, and black clouds were all there  was left. The demanding wind blew fiercely against your sails, and you realized that you were no  longer in control of where you were heading toward. Everything started going wrong; huge  raindrops slammed onto your face, smearing your vision, and the blurry world was twisting in  front of you. Then you tasted salt—so invasive that it almost seemed bitter. You struggled to find  your next breath as you tried to spit the bitterness out of your mouth. After a lot of struggling and  spitting, a vacant darkness took over.  

It was sunny and calm again when you opened your eyes. Lying on warm sands, you woke  up to a crystal blue sky; leaves of the tall palm trees swayed gently with the soft breeze. You saw  the face of a man. But he was not a man.  

You sat up to look at him and saw that below a handsome face and sculpted body, was a  huge, magnificent tail. Numerous purple scales glittered under the bright sunlight, and as he moved,  from different angles his tail appeared to have a tint of clear blue and rose red. You thought of the  sky. You thought of when the sun had just set and the clouds still reflected the last streaks of orange,  when the sky turned from a calming blue to a passionate red then eventually an ethereal lavender  color, and when after the long darkness there finally appeared a glint of warm yellow in the East…

You saw all of that in him, in that gorgeous tail of his, but none of it was even a fraction as  mesmerizing as him. Your heartbeat seemed off by a beat; you felt something growing yet so  yearning in your stomach.  

He looked happy seeing you wake up, and he told you that he saw you fell into the ocean,  sinking, so he swam to you and saved you. It was certain, then, that you were falling ferociously  in love with him.  

You decided that you wanted no one but him to spend the rest of your life with. For a second,  marriage did not seem so revolting anymore, if it were to be with him. But no, you were against  marriage and the corrupted patriarchal system; not even him would make the exception. You stood  firm that you were the only rightful successor to inherit the throne.  

You thanked him, saying all the sincerest appreciation you could think of, crediting him for  your life. He was kind and humble, consistently assuring you that it was nothing to worry about and making sure you were alright. You started talking, and you exchanged the troubles and joy in  your lives. You told him about your journeys overseas, all the beautiful islands and palm trees you  had seen, and how it was your biggest wish to sail across the ocean by yourself and see a bigger  world outside of your diplomatic duties. He told you about the magnificence of the ocean, the  glowing schools of fish he had swum with, and the calmness of the ocean floor where he slept at  night.  

You told him about the ridiculous law that prohibited you to rule the country without  marrying someone and making him your king first. He told you about how he was also the prince  of his kingdom, but the day before his accession of the throne—a grand celebration to be held, one  that he had been waiting for his entire life—the catastrophe happened and destroyed his entire  kingdom, along with everyone he had ever loved. You felt sorry for each other; you were two lost souls that drifted aimlessly into an unknown region of the ocean but then found resonance and  comfort in each other’s eyes.  You stayed. Marriage or not, with him, there was a life worth living for.