Mini Brain Dumps

If you’re just joining us and haven’t read the beginning of Darkest Depths, you can catch up here: Beginning of the Story

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Trigger Warning: This novel contains references to sexual assault and mental health disorders. Reader discretion is advised.

For the next couple of weeks, Quentin and Cate settled into a rhythm within the walls of Seidonis. In the morning, they would meet in the grand hall of the castles where they would eat a variety of underwater delicacies from clam chowder, to grilled fish, or shellsea custard. For the most part, the dishes were great, except for on one occasion where they were served oysters. Quentin had choked them down, but the texture had turned his stomach. Though he couldn’t help but miss his mother’s cooking, and even found himself missing the simple comforts of eggs in the morning. Fish eggs just weren’t the same.

In the early afternoon, Quentin would take to wandering the castle grounds or the city to explore his new home. Sometimes he would hang out with Lyra or some of the castle guards he had begun to get to now, playing cards with them on their breaks. Whenever Lyra was around, Cate always seemed to be on edge. When he questioned her about it Cate simply shrugged her shoulders stating that she had a weird feeling about her.

The late afternoons soon became his favorite time of the day, that was when he got to train with Cate and Elysia. He still struggled to keep up with Cate as she was far more agile from her times aboard the Sovereign then him. But at least he no longer got out of breath as quickly, and could for the most part hold his own ground.

One day Quentin swam through the bustling streets of Seidonis, the vibrant energy of the city swirling around him. As he navigated the labyrinthine alleyways, a figure approached him – a mermaid with long dark hair that was tied back in a braid that fell to just past her shoulders. She held out a weathered bottle, its glass frosted with age, and extended it towards Quentin.

“For you,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “A message from the surface.”

Quentin raised his eyebrows. A message from the surface? How was that even possible? He reached out and accepted the bottle from her outstretched hand, turning it over in his palm.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” he began. “I’m not sure what this is or how it got here. I didn’t know there was a way to communicate with the world above.”

“The ocean is vast and unpredictable,” the messenger started, gesturing to the shimmering waters around them. “Sometimes, when the currents are just right and the winds carry them far, bottles tossed into the sea can travel great distances.”
Quentin listened intently.

“Messages sealed inside these bottles endure the journey, protected by the glass and other materials they encased in,” the messenger continued. “It’s a simple way for those in need to reach out across vast distances,’ she concluded with a warm smile. Somehow, they always make it here, we find them and then give them the intended recipient. And in this case, it seemed you were the fortunate one to receive a message.”

“Thank you,” Quentin said.

As the messenger departed, Quentin found a quiet spot by the edge of the city, somewhere he could be alone. He carefully examined the bottle, tracing the intricate patterns etched into its surface. It was a curious artifact, a relic from a world he had long thought he had left behind.

With trembling hands, he examined the bottle. It shimmered, as if the whole bottle was encapsulated in magic. He could feel the gentle hum against his palm. He uncorked the bottle and an air bubble escaped, enveloping the parchment, keeping the message safe from the underwater elements. He retrieved the message enclosed within.

The parchment was yellowed with age, its edges frayed from the journey it had undertaken. Yet, the letter continued to shimmer in its makeshift air pocket. Quentin unfolded it, his heart pounding with anticipation.

The words were written in Lucy’s familiar handwriting, each letter a poignant reminder of the life he had left behind. As he read her words, memories flooded back to him – memories of lazy summer days spent in the fields, of whispered promises exchanged beneath the moonlight.

My Dearest Quentin,

Though the markets have passed by and I have waited at each one, hoping against hope to catch a glimpse of you among the bustling crows, you have not appeared. It was on the docs that I heard whispers, tales of a brave soul lost to the sea.

They spoke of the Sovereign. They spoke of you, Quentin.

It is with a heavy heart that I write these words, for I fear they may never reach you. They say that the ocean has claimed you and taken you from me forever. Oh, how my soul weeps for you, lost to the depths of the sea. And though I refused to believe it, I know that you are gone.

The days have grown long and empty without your laughter to fill them, and I find myself lost in a world that feels so cold and unfamiliar. I miss you more than words can express, and the thought of never seeing your smile again fills me with a sadness I cannot bear.

Do you remember the day we met? It feels like a lifetime ago, yet the memory remains as vivid as ever in my mind. From that moment on, you became my anchor, my confidant, my everything.

We shared so many precious moments together Quentin – moments of laughter and joy, of love and tenderness. I cherish each one of them, holding them close to my heart as a beacon of hope in the darkness. But oh, how I wish we had more time! More time to explore, to laugh, to love. More time to make memories that would last a lifetime.

I cannot help but feel a pang of regret for all the things left unsaid and undone. There were so many dreams we shared, so many plans we made, and yet they now lie shattered at my feet. I long to turn back the hands of time, to reclaim the moments we lost, but I know that such wishes are futile.

Since I could not say it to you in life, perhaps you will know in death. I love you, Quentin. Always.

Until we meet again, my love.

With all my heart,

Lucy

Quentin’s heart clenched as he read Lucy’s words, each sentence a dagger piercing through the armor of his resolve. He could feel the weight of her sorrow, the depth of her love, resonating from every line. The realization that Lucy believed him to be lost forever to the sea filled him with a profound sense of guilt and longing.

A lump formed in Quentin’s throat, and he struggled to swallow past the sudden surge of emotion. How could he tell her that he was alive, that he was here, breathing beneath the waves? The thought of her waiting for him, searching for him among the bustling crowds of the markets, tore at his soul.

Tears welled in Quentin’s eyes, blurring the ink on the parchment before him. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to Lucy, to hold her close and assure her that he was safe, that he still existed in this world. But how could he shatter her mourning, her acceptance of his loss?

And if Lucy thought he was dead – his mother probably did too.

He thought of the day he left, how he had said goodbye without her truly knowing what he had planned to do. His actions were driven by a longing for adventure and a desire to escape the confines of his mundane existence on the surface. But in his quest for freedom, Quentin had unwittingly left behind a trail of heartache and uncertainty, Lucy and his mother left to wonder what had become of him. Just like he had done with his father when he never returned.

With Lucy’s letter clutched tightly in his hand, Quentin felt a surge of remorse wash over him. He had never intended to cause anyone such anguish, yet his impulsive decision to embark on a journey had thrust him into this new world.

With a heavy heart, Quentin made a silent vow to himself – he would find a way to let them know that he was alive, that he had not been claimed by the ocean’s embrace. It was a promise born of love and duty.

But for now, all he could do was whisper their names into the depths of the ocean, hoping that somehow, his love would find its way to them.

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