Countdown to the September 2020 Issue: "Skin Deep" by Jasmine Arch
Who doesn’t love a good romance? Old folklore is full of them—dashing knights and daring ladies who fight all odds to win their love’s favor or life. Then there are the quieter ones about homely love that are just as memorable and often more satisfying.
Jasmine Arch’s “Skin Deep” is the latter type of folkloric romance. In her short story, a selkie washes up on a beach, half-dead from the sludge and pollution that has infected her bay. When she wakes up, she is in a human’s cottage—her sealskin gone and too weak to move. Having been through this before, she rants at her captor.
But Hagen’s different than other human men. He doesn’t want to keep a selkie for his own. His only condition on setting her free is that she walk on her own two feet to the coffer with her sealskin in it.
A task harder said than done.
Here’s a taste of this supernatural romance:
When I opened my eyes, whitewashed bricks had taken the place of the oil-slicked beach. I blinked, puzzled by the pale pink arm in front of my face. When the fingers moved, I realised they were mine. Dark silken fur and claw-tipped flippers had made way for smooth, hairless skin and fingers.
I tried to roll over, but my muscles refused to cooperate. The only thing I managed was to push the blanket off my shoulders, exposing me to the chilly air.
“Oh, you’re awake.” A low, gravelly voice behind me chased my pulse into my throat, and I screamed. Or tried to but only a grating moan came out. I coughed, choking on thick mucus as my throat burned.
“Here, I’ll help you.” Hands pulled the blanket back up before cupping my head and gently turning me over.
The movement made my vision swirl and spin. My stomach roiled, my body contracting as it tried to heave up more of the sludge I’d almost drowned in.
“Woah.” The stranger leaned back as he rolled me further onto my side and held a bowl under my face. The cool edge, solid against my cheek, was the only part of the world that seemed to stay in one place. With his free hand, he supported my head.
When the spasms stopped, I glanced up at him. Brown eyes with laugh lines at the corners met my gaze from behind wood-rimmed glasses. He had black hair, slicked back from his forehead, and a thick beard. Pitted scars spread across his dark skin like freckles. He glanced down at the bowl and smiled. “Well, you got most of it in the bowl. That’s a start.”
I had to get out. Find my pelt and make it back to the water. My brother would be sick with worry.
I’d promised him—and myself—this would never happen again. That I wouldn’t allow it. And I’d failed.
But my eyelids grew heavy and the black spots returned.
Interested? Check out our previous issues here or subscribe to our Patreon for some awesome free content.
