#the lighthouse prophet

[darkwatersuggestions]

Lighthouses burn with the promise of safety, and she had simply found hers in the wilds of the kelp and the untamable beings of the oceans all over.

[darkwatersuggestions]

34. Cinnamon

She always insisted on having a certain spice on hand, even out at the lighthouse, practicality be damned. She put a few spoonfuls into her own coffee, the other two watching her as she carried the cups over. She slid the spiceless one across to the man they rescued on accident, her partner eyeing the injured man carefully. The man didn't touch the coffee given to him, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes.

She sipped hers, savoring the spiced taste as fond memories resurfaced. A dark haired woman with heavily freckled brown skin slid back into her thoughts, her eyes dark abyssal pools. Her grey hair long and wild and soft, her skin colder and somewhat rough to the touch, a soft coat draped around her shoulders.

The woman loved cinnamon, saying it was uncommon where she was from. She loved the taste, she loved the smell. Her loveliest smiles were that when she smelled it, charmed by every thoughtful gifts of her favorite spice. She fell in love with the way her eyes sparkled when presented with her favorite thing.

She put down her cup, overwhelmed with nostalgia and longing. That summer was the last time she saw the woman. The next summer was the loneliest she ever was.

She wondered what the woman would think of her now. She wondered if she was ever thought of the same way she sprinkles cinnamon in everything.

[darkwatersuggestions]

This was the first time she has ever locked her bedroom door in all her time at the lighthouse. She had replaced the light, so based on what the old sailor said, it shouldn't be moving. Still, she couldn't sleep, for its image was burned into the inside of her eyelids.

She had no idea what it was, or who it used to be. She was dreading the answer.

She sits up, the storm in full force now, days later, water rushing over the lower parts of her island, taking anything she didn't happen to tie down. It was incosequential things, really, nothing that wasn't going to be just replaced. Feet touched the floor, making her shiver as she got up.

The book she was reading was still on the desk where she left it, open on the pages she stopped on. Perhaps she could find more answers in those words.

Lighting the candle nearby, she began reading again. Words filled her mind and echoed over and over again, a broken melody, scraps of an ancient song.

The back cover was slammed shut, her eyes closed, trying to focus, to make sense of the situation. She didn't realized when she had started getting up and moving to the door.

And she began to sing. The tones bellowing whale song, her hands reaching to unlock her door. The echoes of her voice harmonized with her, the fragments now making sense.

A second voice, high pitched and raspy, joined hers, a duet of sea and land. She moved towards the source, song weaving through the lighthouse and mingling with the storm outside. The grinning face met her at the bottom, its mouth mimicing hers, extending its hands out. She interlaced her fingers with it, pulled along into a swaying dance.

"I have waited decades to be found again." It whispered between the chorus and bridges of their song.

"And you have been found." She whispers back as their voices raise their tones from sorrow to joy.

"We offer visions, powers of keeping, powers of sifting truths from deceptions, and you are perfect for us."

"How so?"

"You and I are a sandbar, between the land and the deep, we are one, we are separate, if only you accept."

"But tell me, what is the price for what you offer?"

"Your name. I have already given mine to Them."

She thinks as they spin, feeling how well they fit together, how well they move together. She whispers her name into the space between them, feeling relief, feeling joy. It was as it promised, and she could feel the change in herself.

The pair of them were the caretakers of this place now. They had nothing to be afraid of now, since they had each other. Loneliness was chased away with their new partnership.

[darkwatersuggestions]

33- raw umber

She didn't know what she was looking at, at first. She had to climb down to get a better look. A piece of wood had washed up on theur island, carrying a body wrapped in a stained but beautiful cloak, looking like it froze to death. She came back with a heavy linen, wrapping the body up carefully, bringing the corpse back to the lighthouse. Maybe her parter would be able to figure it out.

She called out for them, her voice echoing into the stairs and up to the light, laying the body down on the raw umber wooden table that the ex-sailor had built many years ago. The stain was pretty much the same color as the wood, the cloak tied tight around the body, as if to stop some bleeding.

A creaking of wood and bone announced her partner's arrival, standing beside her.

"What is this?"

"A body. I'm not sure it's human, though."

Her partner sweeped its empty sockets over the body as it circled around the table, humming to itself.

"Looks familiar. Might have to commune with Them about it."

The two took their leave to go do exactly that, leaving the body where it was. Candles, a neat circle drawn with sea salt, and a large empty conch shell were soon gathered and set up, the two stepping inside it. They linked hands, speaking in unison the spoken components, the conch shell in between them.

They did not hear the presumably dead body get up with a groan and a crash, the linens softening his fall. His gills were stinging in the cold and stale air, trying to figure out where he was. The sea, the wreckage was gone. A house of some sort, what appeared to be a simple kitchen. He staggered to the door, trying to search for signs of life.

He came upon the pair, the two now startled by his sudden appearance. The man stared at the smiling visage and the woman before focusing on their interlocked hands.

"Hello?"

"Oh, you're not a corpse." Her partner rasped.

She stood up, the two mutually breaking the circle as they stepped out.

"At least let us get you something to eat and dry clothes." She said.

The man looked hesitant, but accepted. If they were related to Her, this would be his chance to get closer.

[darkwatersuggestions]

Little by little, she had restored one of the ancient books she had found in the lighthouse to pass time. She carefully placed it on the nightstand so she could turn on the light before she could dive into the pages.

Into the words she had started to lose herself, slowly tracking the trail of the divine that was supposedly outlined in this book, fingertip keeping her spot. The floor below her settled loudly, pulling her out of the book for a moment. It never seemed the rest of the lighthouse settled quite as loudly ad the space below her. She didn't know what room it was supposed to be. It was locked, and none of her keys worked on the door anyway.

She asked, once. It was the one and only time the sailor sent a follow up letter quickly.

"I've lost that key somewhere on the island. I would not open that door, even if you did have that key. And if you do open that door, make sure the light doesn't go out."

She delved into her book again. It asked her to consider seeking answers. To satisfy her curiosity on her own terms. So she was convinced. It took several days to find a key, lodged between a rock and roots that dangled dangerously close to the deep below. She felt eyes watch her fron the churning surf, brushing it off as loneliness cutting in.

It fit the door perfectly despite its rust. The light struggled with the storm outside, and she swore she saw it flicker once. But that didn't matter now, she was going to discover a secret. Click. Open. She was inside the room below hers.

This was the only room without a window, but otherwise it was like the bedroom above it. It was pretty much spotless, as if it had come straight out of an old home magazine, tidy and organized. Her heart raced at the sight at the little desk, though.

A grinning face, tilted down in study, hunched over the wooden surface and appearing as if it used to be holding a pencil and paper. White. Either covered or made out of dead coral. She closed the door quickly, leaving well enough alone.

In the dead of night, she started climbing up. The light was constantly flickering and she needed to check if it was able to make it through the night for herself. After looking at it, she turned to go down to get a replacement. A chance glimpse out one of the windows told her the light went out. She was just past her bedroom. The floor below her settled. A pause. She hurried as carefully as she could, not willing to split her skull open on the stairs.

As she approached the next landing, the door was open. She realized she never locked the door back up. No noise up ahead. Step, step, peek. It was empty. Where could it possibly have gone?