The Whispering Sea

The sea remembers everything. The tide, with its endless rhythm, pulls and pushes against the rocks, carving memories into the shore. I am its voice, its keeper of secrets. They call me Mara, the Witch of the Tide, but names are a poor reflection of truth. I am neither wholly alive nor entirely a ghost, but something in between, bound to the waters and to the whispers that slip through the fog. And what many do not suspect until it’s too late: I am hungry.

The hunger is constant, a gnawing in the depths of my being. It is not the hunger of flesh and bone, but of souls—of memories and choices, of lives shattered on the rocks of fate. They come to me like lost ships in a storm, drawn by the hope of redemption or answers. But what they do not realize is that I always take something in return. I am always hungry. The souls, the memories, the emotions—they sate me only for a while. But it is never enough. It never will be.

Today, the mist is thick and heavy, wrapping itself around the cliffs of Gull’s Haven like a jealous lover. It knows what is coming, and so do I. He will come to me, this boy with a broken heart and a map in his hand, searching for what he lost to the waves.