Stavanger Bay from whence i see no reason why

@Raptor, if/when you have time <3

the sea, and from the edge of the shoreline, a low cliff. erzulie stood at its edge, the wind whispering through her honeycream withers. trepidation beat in her heart, but a shoreline whore had been the fiercest mentor in her young life; erzulie recalled her face. marie — princesse des mille colombes was what the harlot had called the only one to know the secret desire of her heart. marie, who spoke only french, insisting it was the language of love, and that erzulie must know it. marie, who had taken the child beneath her pearly wing in twa bouch and fed her, and given her a place to learn the only trade that mattered. sparrow, listen to me, the angel had told her charge, the first night erzulie had laid beside her. the first night in so many that the girl remembered roux's embrace, and had cried into the plush snow of marie's fur. we must toil in this world so very hard. hunger and suffering, and death — we are not above these things. but glean pleasure from your life, and by that, enjoyment. there is no wisdom in going hungry when there are things to eat.
erzulie breathed the salt air, and here she arced into the grey air, a small dive and one that plunged her beneath the surface with a cry and a choking exhale when she surfaced again, instinctually clawing beneath the darkness and lifting her muzzle from the brine. a stupid thing she had done — else there was a chance she would not have entered the sea.