I came ashore many, many years ago when my seal skin was stolen from me by a fisherman. A bad man.
He gave my skin to his brother, who sold it to a passing merchant. The merchant went on his travels and sold my skin to a noble man, who presented it to his wife, who gifted it to her midwife...
I don’t know the fate of my skin after that. I’ve long given up hope of being reacquainted with it, but I refuse to give into bitterness. Not all humans were bad; our children were not.
After my bad fisherman died and our children and grandchildren had all grown up, I went on my own travels.
I journeyed all around the world, taking in the sights. At first I stuck close to the coast, never wanting to be too far from my true home.
But as the years went by and I continued learning about people and observing their progress, I became more fascinated by them. What makes a human human? Why do live? And why do they die?
I came to England, to one of her ancient towns founded by the Romans, and found a hospital there. They helped the helpless.
I’ve worked there ever since, caring for and tending to their dead, trying to understand their secrets.
I’ve survived plagues, battles, religious persecutions, tyrant kings, civil wars, two world wars - one with a terrible blitz - there were times when I longed to return to the waves, but I suppressed that longing.
My true skin was long gone.
Until you presented me with it yesterday.
Sherlock Holmes, I knew you were good, but how did you find my skin after so, so long?
And how did you know about me?
And what will I do now that I have my skin back?
There is heartbreak in choice. To leave, but to leave you, would break my heart. To stay is to never return home, to never heal from the trauma of being kidnapped and used.
As always, I will find a way forward. A compromise. A way to be neither Selki nor woman, but something in between.
Sherlock Holmes, you have given me my identity back, the freedom to choose, and love - thank you for all eternity.