For the whole of Ghislaine’s life she’d been surrounded by the sea. It was, truthfully, one of only a handful of things she could rely on, even within the static world of her people’s own creation. There were more than enough sharp edges and shadowy corners within those glittering halls, after all; it was a place where your closest friends played parlour games with your darkest secrets, and the social hierarchy was a revolving door. Impermanence was a way of life, perhaps to make up for so little change within the confines of their world, from platters of decaying fruit to yet another torrid affair reduced to ashes.
But the sea never cared much for these triflings. Unspoken consort to the Moon, it stood apart in its wildness...