Sitting on a craggy stone, Triteia fingered the ridges of a clam shell, pondering the other life in her grandfather’s sea. “Why wasn’t I born an angel fish?” She pouted, “Or a leviathan or seahorse or a sea snake…”
She skipped the clam across the lapping waves, eight — almost nine — times in all, and with her gaze, followed the descent of the creature back to its home.
“I should get home soon to father” Triteia sighed. She caressed her human half; her stomach, arms, neck, chest, and cursed it all.
“Anything besides this abomination.”
She looked towards her lower half, weeping.