The Selkie and the Sea

Owen, a clumsy glassworker, falls in love with Sorcha, a mysterious woman who later reveals she is a selkie: part seal, part human. Despite the danger her identity poses, they build a life together. However, nothing is as it seems. 

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Nothing was as it seemed.

That was the first thing she’d taught him. Hell, it was practically the first thing out of her mouth.

They met on the docks. Or, well… it would be more accurate to say he bumped straight into her on the docks (he wasn’t watching where he was going, which was his fault).
Unfortunately for him, in trying to back away and apologize, he tripped over a barrel and landed squarely inside a crate. The crate, as luck would have it, broke into splinters around him, sending water and fish flying in all directions.

The woman he’d collided with blinked her large, gray eyes in astonishment. Then, without a word, she knelt and helped him out of the wreckage, her long fingers deft and warm as they wrapped around his arm.

Owen rubbed the back of his head, his face burning. “Thank you,” he muttered with a sheepish grimace. “And my apologies, miss.”

She was tall, taller than most women he’d ever met, and strikingly beautiful in a way that seemed otherworldly. She had long, dark hair braided down her back and lashes that framed her silvery eyes like shadows around the moon.

“Apologies?” she echoed, amused.

“Aye, well… you seem like a well-bred woman. Didn’t mean to splash fish guts all over your shoes. Certainly don’t want you smelling of the sea all day.”

She laughed then, a sound as warm as late sunlight on rippling water. It hit him like a wave—beautiful and unexpected. He wanted to bottle that laugh, tuck it away in his pocket, keep it close during the dark nights.

“I don’t mind,” she said, smiling. “Perhaps I’m not quite what I seem.”

He chuckled nervously. If you were to ask Owen, she seemed like an angel incarnate. “Well, I am exactly what I seem. Unfortunately.”

She tilted her head. “And what is that—cute, or clumsy?”

He blushed. “Painfully clumsy, I’m afraid,” he replied, grinning now despite himself. “My sister runs our family’s glass shop, and she says if we can make it, Owen can break it. She’s not wrong. Poor thing has had to clean up after me more times than I can count. So I figured I’d come to the docks instead, give the sea a try.” He looked at the wreckage around them. “But it seems that’s not my calling either.”

The beautiful woman hummed, thoughtful. “Maybe you were just looking in the wrong place.”

He looked up at her then, something fluttering in his chest. “Maybe you’re right.”
She held his gaze. Neither of them looked away.

“You never asked my name,” she said at last.

He flushed again, his face now an impossible shade of red. “I didn’t want to be forward.”

That laugh again, brighter than the sun. “My name is Sorcha.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Sorcha. I’m Owen.”

They married three months later.

#####

Owen knelt by the water, the sea wind tugging at the now-graying curls behind his ears. His knees creaked beneath him. The bottle in his hands was smooth and cool, the note inside dry and scrawled in a rushed hand. He eased it into the water and watched as it bobbed away, catching the gold light of the setting sun. It drifted slowly, gently, until it became just another glimmer among the waves.

A small hand slipped into his. Meris, his daughter, his pearl, his bright star, stood beside him in a black dress, the hem dancing in the breeze.

Her silver eyes blinked solemnly up at him. “Papa?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Where is… where is Mama now?”

He turned toward her, heart twisting. She was trying so hard to be brave. Her chin trembled, but she stood tall. She was strong. (She took after her mother that way.)

He bent to one knee, ignoring the protests from his bones, and brushed a thumb under her eye. “We talked about this, remember? Your mama… she’s with the sea.”

Meris nodded slowly. She didn’t speak, but he saw it in her eyes. She understood. She always did. She was smart. (She took after her mother that way.)

“You’re being very brave,” Owen whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

She gave a small nod, then turned away to place a single white flower on the smooth stone nearby. She carefully placed it at the center of the stone and made sure that it lay just right before backing away.

She was thoughtful. (She took after her mother that way.)

#####

He remembered when Sorcha first told him the truth. They were lying in bed, their child growing in her belly. Rain drummed softly against the windows. Sorcha’s fingers curled around his, her grip unusually tight.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” she whispered into the dark.

Owen blinked awake. “What is it, love?”

“I’m not… I’m not exactly what I seem.”

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, still half-asleep. “Been saying it for years. You’re full of mysteries, you are.”

“No, Owen. I mean it.” She sat up and looked at him. “I’m not human. Not entirely.”

He also sat up at that. “What do you mean?”

She bit her lip. Her eyes shimmered, not just with tears, but with something old, deep, and ocean-blue. A pain carried through generations. A loss born out of time and grief.

“Do you remember the stories I used to tell you? About the women of the water? The ones who could transform into seals?”

“Aye.”

“I’m… one of them. A selkie.” She couldn’t look at him, keeping her gray eyes on the floor. “I have a skin,” she continued. “I keep it hidden. If someone were to steal it—”

“They’d control you.”

She nodded. “If anyone knew, I’d be hunted. Trapped. Taken back to sea or kept here against my will. It’s happened to our kind before.”

He said nothing. To say he hadn’t suspected anything over the years would be a lie. However, to say he expected this… well… no one could rightfully say they were prepared for their spouse to admit to being one of the fae.

The silence stretched long enough to break something fragile between them. Finally, he replied:

“And what if I told you I didn’t care?”

She blinked.

“I don’t care what you are, Sorcha,” Owen said, taking her hand. “I love you. Whatever you’re made of. Wherever you come from. Nothing could change that. But just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

He rested his hand over her stomach. “Don’t disappear. Please. Not while she’s so small. She needs her mother.”

#####

A week ago she came home hurt.

Meris had already gone to bed. Owen found Sorcha collapsed on the floor, wet and shivering, a deep gash running down her leg.

“Gods—Sorcha!” He dropped to his knees. “Who did this to you?”

Her lips were pale. “Someone from the shore. I think… I think they know. I was too slow getting back.”

He carried her to bed, wrapped her wounds, held her close while her body trembled.

“I told you to be careful,” he whispered fiercely. “I begged you. What happened?”

“I was careful,” she rasped. “But there’s only so much hiding a creature can do before someone sees. At least I got away and they couldn’t follow me…”

“Not this time.”

“Owen, please—”

“You can’t leave us.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

And she meant it, she truly did. But just because you mean something doesn’t make it true. Sometimes, fate has other plans in store for us.

#####

Meris was quiet on the walk home, her small hand tucked into his. The road curved alongside the cliffs, and the sea below glittered with moonlight.

Owen’s thoughts wandered to his daughter. This was her first loss. Her first goodbye that would not be undone by time. He hated that she had to learn it so young. But maybe, he thought, maybe she would also learn what came after grief. The chance to heal and grow.

He glanced down. “Are you alright, little one?”

She nodded but said nothing.

“You’re doing a wonderful job of being brave.”

She nodded and looked out toward the water. “Do you think Mama really went back to the sea?”

Before he could answer, something caught his eye. Down near the shoreline, barefoot, just where the waves lapped the sand, stood a woman. Her hair was black as night and shimmered with salt. The moon cast silver onto her skin. He blinked once, twice. She was there.

Owen’s breath caught. She was here.

Because that was the first lesson Sorcha ever taught him.

Nothing was as it seemed.

The woman turned slightly, and her voice drifted up from the tide. She held a glass bottle in her hands. “I’m sorry about Mr. Whiskers,” she said. “Did I miss the funeral?”

Meris’ hand slipped from his. Her eyes lit up, tears spilling freely now—this time not from grief but from excitement.

“Mommy!” She ran toward the shore.

Owen didn’t stop her. The woman bent down, arms wide, and embraced her daughter in a warm, full-bodied hug. Meris clung to her, sobbing now, pouring all the sorrow for her lost cat into her tears. She had tried so hard to keep it inside, but the anguish boiled over and ran down her cheeks in rivulets, wiped away by the soft hand of her mother.

Owen stayed where he was, heart thudding in his chest. Sorcha looked up at him, eyes shining with tears of her own. She mouthed the words across the distance: Thank you.

Because they knew now, and so did their daughter. A lesson hard-won and often learned too late.

Nothing was as it seemed.