Before memory, before time...
There was no land. No sky.
Only the endless breath of silence — and nothingness.
From the hands of a power too old for names, the ocean was born.
Not carved in fire. Not forged in stone.
But sung into being — a lullaby spun from breath and eternity.
She stirred alone in the void, vast and unknowable —
a living sea with no shore, no stars, no voice.
She waited.
And when nothing came, she wept.
Her sorrow did not crash like thunder.
It did not rise like storms.
It was quiet. Endless. Deep.
And from that aching silence, something ancient stirred.
Not by command. Not by force.
But as a response.
A golden pulse of light, warm and trembling, broke through the deep.
Soft as a promise.
Bright as the first dawn.
And from the depths...
She rose.
A being born of oceanlight and grief.
Fins shimmering like glass.
Hair drifting like song.
She opened her eyes beneath the water —
eyes the sea had never seen.
She did not speak.
But her presence rippled through the deep
like a hymn waiting to be born.
She was the first.
And where she swam, the sea answered.
One by one, others emerged —
rising not from silence, but from song.
The melody was not taught.
It was remembered —
etched into their being like the tide itself.
Their skin shimmered with the hues of pearl and coral.
Their voices carried the rhythm of the waves.
They were not mortals.
Not gods.
They were something in between.
They were the mermaids.
Daughters of the Sea.
Woven from her sorrow.
Crowned by her longing.
Made to guard what had once been empty.
The sea no longer wept —
And in her joy, she bestowed powers upon her children,
Chosen to uphold her will,
And rule the deep.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧