#mc. all

[tidelure]

( FLASHBACK : APPROXIMATELY A DECADE AGO ) TUGGED ALONG BY A YOUNG ZIGGY LANDRY, MARUKA IS BROUGHT TO THE LANDRY HOUSE FOR A DINNER ╱ feat. OTTO LANDRY of @sepulchrals

the waifish child that had lead maruka into the home disappears the moment after entering it, disappearing up a flight of stairs to presumably find either a parent or, in lieu, the nearest available adult. this leaves mare waiting alone in the foyer, pacing absently towards the door and away again, and she has the good sense to look embarrassed for dripping water and chlorine while doing it. the victorian is elegantly designed and eccentrically decorated, which lends the impression of something grave treated with fondness, like a classroom skeleton adorned with stickers and brightly-coloured lengths of fabric. when a man finally descends the stairs and comes toward her, maruka steps forward to meet him with the uncomfortable energy of a nervous thoroughbred.

"i, um, i'm so sorry ⸺" her tone is low, conspiratorial, as though to avoid this apology reaching ziggy's ears. "your daughter, she insisted that i come over for dinner." it occurs to her, a moment to late, that to say i means nothing in this instance. " ⸺ my name's maruka, i have a... a certain act on the boardwalk, and she ⸺ ziggy's quite fond of it." quite fond of me is perhaps equally true, but maruka can't bring herself to wear that warmth so openly. affection, on her, seems gaudy. "it's really no problem to just leave. i'm sure you weren't planning on this, i only thought i'd walk her home ⸺"

[tidelure]

IN THE BATHROOM OF A RESTAURANT, MARUKA WALKS HEADLONG INTO AN IMAGE OF HER PAST ╱ feat. ATHENA LANDRY of @phantmheart

"i'm sorry, you wouldn't happen to have a ⸺ " the woman at the sink turns, and she finds herself facing her mother. no — if it was her mother in true, she would have reprimanded her for needing something. for being found so publicly wanting. this woman, beautiful and placid, does not speak, and it's enough to cut through the illusion and bare the bones of clarity. this image is no more real than a reflection in water. maruka clips her purse shut, her mouth closing with it.

" ⸺ never mind." her voice, a deep and honeyed thing, is suddenly flat and cold, no more lifelike than a rock dredged up from the bottom of the sea. maruka knows the difference is stark, that her face bares the smooth impression of something -; but she makes no effort to correct either, to hoist her tone into something warm or pull her features into an assimilation of indifference ⸺ what energy she has is relegated to keeping her heart upright.

[tidelure]

RAIN ARRIVES SUDDENLY, AS IT'S OUGHT TO DO, AND DRIVES MARUKA THROUGH THE NEAREST DOORWAY AND INTO  THE PAST ╱ feat.  @ofglitterz

the streets, a moment ago full with those returning home from work, are quickly drained of their occupancy once the downpour starts. as if the people too are swept into the rain gutters, they linger under shop awnings, eyes upturned to the sky with the hopeful resentment of children waiting for a parent's permission. maruka is among few who continue in stride, moving undeterred down through the town square. wetness has never bothered her. as she passes the throngs of those huddled under shelter, she thinks absently that she should mind, that this lack of care is one of the small absences in her heart that was meant to be filled in, but can't bring herself to mind. it's too familiar, the sensation of hair sticking to the back of her neck.

but the universe, of course, is a trickster at heart. what nihilists attribute to randomness and a lack of care is instead instead artfulness and a sense of sly humour. by the time the pace of the rain increases and her coat begins to soak through to the paper files sheltered beneath, in the moment at which she stops to consider options, she's in front of a familiar door. by the time she enters and begins to observe a display, drenched to the point of condensing by the rain, she looks more herself than ever: slender as a river reed and just as bound to the water.

[tidelure]

AT THE SKIRT OF THE LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DARK OF THE NIGHT, MARUKA REJOINS WITH THE SEA.  ╱ feat. @purslanes

in the distance sits a car, engine still running and the lights left on. in the dark, the yellow glow from the front window stares as one great unblinking eye, condensation from the interior heat fogging up the glass until it looks on the border of tears. maruka has kept it that way for the sake of sanctuary, a warm place to return to after her dive. so all that will occur is, in some distant way, tied to her own finger ⸺ violence always is.

her folly is that she forgets that every eye has its equivalent half, and that in creating one she had necessitated the joining of another. it's her mistake not to assess the lighthouse, with its eternal blaze, as the auxiliary light. the secondary eye. she strips her clothes on the beach and leaves them on the rocks, stepping past the waves in only the secondary skin of a slip dress. it will bite her out there, the cold: the freeze of a rhode island near-winter as real as a set of gnashing teeth. she does not mind. she never has. maruka slips under the water, mouth open: salt on salt, teeth on teeth. a homecoming. under the moonlight, her wet hair glows so black it is blue, her body so white against the dark it turns pearlescent.

across the way, the light of her car momentarily shudders ⸺ blinks, then returns to itself ⸺ as if someone is squinting with one eye, looking through a spyglass.

as if someone is trying to get a better look.