You stare at the scratches on the wall. This entire base is a prison, it’s always been. You’ve been captive since birth, a child born of the sea, in a so-called league above the rest. The start of a new way of life, they told you, while you boarded with kids you had nothing in common with— except for the fact that you’d all been born together, and odds were you would all die together, too. Might as well be a league below the rest. No, more like a few thousand leagues. This ocean is all you’ve ever known, the swishing and crashing of waves against the cold mechanical island you call home ringing over and over and over and over and over and over and the sky weeps glass. Glass strikes down from above. You and your only friend run to safety. You trip and scrape your knee on a seam in the tiles. She turns back and pulls you up and up and oh no sharp sharp SHARP hail she told you. She told you that you should wear something heavier but you didn’t want to listen. You never listen. She wraps her arm around you to help you back to your lighthouse, your sanctuary, but before you get to the door. Delvers. You’re in trouble. You both get dragged to the brig. Glass strikes you both. You didn’t make it in time. It was never going to work, it was a stupid plan, it was such a STUPID plan why are you so so so