[ The sound of the harps is constant, but it twines in with the sound of her laughter, the feel of her teeth, the touch of her fins and scales against him. He chases and is chased, laughs with no air and no need for it. Fingers and fins find her, tease her as she teases; he has seen, though he has not experienced, and he knows that a kiss here or a stroke there might simply serve to tease.
They are in the deep, the dark, and he feels like he is home. Spirit of the Deep, the Great Leviathan, and he cannot see as mortals can but he can sense magic, power, and he knows where she is -- drawn to her, as the tide is to the shore. His hands twist in her hair, combing through the strands as if they, as if she, is something precious.
With the music of the harps reminding him what it is to feel human, she is. ]
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They are in the deep, the dark, and he feels like he is home. Spirit of the Deep, the Great Leviathan, and he cannot see as mortals can but he can sense magic, power, and he knows where she is -- drawn to her, as the tide is to the shore. His hands twist in her hair, combing through the strands as if they, as if she, is something precious.
With the music of the harps reminding him what it is to feel human, she is. ]