Cassiopeia

She floated on her back in the water, looking up at the stars.  Her arms and legs flowed in waves that kept her afloat.  All around her, the phosphorescence of a summer’s night twinkled in the sea.  They left stars on her knees, her breasts, her hips and her toes.  A tiny star rested on the crown of her head.  With the sky as her full range of vision and weightless in the water, there was no up or down, no north or south and she spun.

She reminisced about how she got here, splayed amongst the ocean of stars.

She had been tied to the sea for as long as she could remember.  In her early years she sat on the beach, watching the waves hesitantly tickle the shore and run away laughing.  As a teenager, she wore fire coral in her hair and the skeletons of sea urchins on her fingers so that the ocean never left her sight.  Each time she waved her hand, each time she swung her head, the waves crashed around her.  As queen, she nestled herself on the rocks asking starfish and octopuses for guidance.  They never failed to disappoint.

You can imagine, then, how she felt when the sea turned against her.  And it all started with a tiny misunderstanding.

It was nearly sunset, that honeyed hour when everything glowed with leftover sunlight.  She was perched on the edge of a tide pool with her toes in the water.  Anemones and hermit crabs had come out to watch the twilight settle in.  She crawled to the watch the still, glassy water meet the shore below.  It was a mirror, as if the whole ocean held its breath in her presence.  “You are the most beautiful thing in the world,” she said to the sea.

From the peaceful crepuscular blue, the waters began to churn and boil.  The waves tossed angry white caps into the air and the nereids bubbled up from the depths of their silvery cave.  All fifty of them poked heads out of the water, glaring at her.  They were radiant, as if the sunlight soaked up by the ocean poured from them.

“Using our home as a looking glass?” Clio asked her.

“The most beautiful thing in the world, are you?” Halie mimicked, her eyes narrowing.

She was taken aback, unable to speak in their presence.

And just as suddenly, they were gone.

It was a mere three hours later when the tsunami struck.  The ocean pulled itself up to rival the mountains and came crashing down.  All of Poseidon’s power slapped her kingdom, leaving it whirling, in tears.

As the waters receded, she went back to the sea, her husband in tow, looking for answers.  She asked sharks and lobsters, kissing fish and dolphins, shrimp and sea turtles.  They all stayed silent.  Only the man-o-war responded.

“It will happen again and again,” his voice undulated.

“What can we do?”

“You must show you are sorry, humbled.  You must give something precious.”

“Gold? Jewels? Anything,” her husband’s voice strained.

“More precious.”

She felt her stomach drop. She knew even before it was spoken.

The jelly fish’s tentacles crept toward her ankles.

“You are the offender,” he directed his speech towards her.  “What’s most precious to you?”

At home, in their palace, the couple fought.  She had a daughter to protect, and he a kingdom.  Word of the man-o-war’s prophecy seeped through the city, out into the fields, and back to the sea.  Citizens came to protest, to demand the safety and protection of their king.

The waters receded once more, threatening the province, exposing a vulnerable beach and stranding  minnows and whale sharks on the shore.  You are minnows, it taunted the citizens.  Are you more powerful than whale sharks?

And what is a mother to do?  How many lives is a daughter’s life worth?  The king decided there was no choice to be made.

The parade of king, princess, queen, and citizens followed the retreating sea.  It seemed they walked for days, through seaweed and over sand dollars.  Crabs joined the procession and the people gathered starfish for luck on their pilgrimage.  Seagulls and pelicans pointed the way, leading the flock.  When dolphins were found stranded, women made stretchers from skirts and scarves and carried them to the sea.

All the while, all eyes were on her daughter.  They adorned her to make her the best offering the sea had ever seen.  They dressed her in seaweed and put fire coral in her hair.  They hung sea urchins from her ears and put shells on her fingers.  She was covered with the ocean, until she looked as if she were drowning in a Sargasso Sea.  Her mother could only look away.

When they reached the water’s edge the found a large rock, tied her to it, and left.

Back in the kingdom, the ocean returned, placid and inviting.  It gave up fish and lobster to feast on.  It sparkled an ecstatic aquamarine.  The offering had worked.

And because this is a fairy tale, her daughter returned, on the arm of a hero, saved from the briny wrath.

The kingdom rejoiced.  The king threw feast upon feast: for the generous ocean, for the princess returned, for the dashing new hero.  Even a wedding ensued.

But very little changed for her.  She had still lost a daughter.  When she looked in her daughter’s eyes, she did not see the bond they once shared, their tender secrets, the maternal adoration, the unconditional affection.  Nor did she see hatred or blame, resentment or hostility.  What she saw was much worse – pity.

Pity for a mother who would bring such a fate upon a daughter.  Pity for a woman who could not protect her child from a too-pragmatic father.  Pity for someone who could not speak up.

It was probably expected and predictable when she threw herself off the cliff into the sea.  The ocean received her with open arms, welcoming her home the moment she hit the salty sheets.  Wrapped in the waves, she laid on a rock, looking through the surf up at the stars and surrounded by phosphorescence.  The sea held her suspended, her arms and legs splayed so that she was a W.  The light landed on her head, her shoulders, waist, knee, and breast.  She flowed there, light and water, looking to the North Pole and never right-side-up, as she waited for her daughter, the hero, and her husband to join her.  All returning to the ocean of stars from whence they’d come.

Creative Commons love and a big thank you to TravelinginEurope and tristanf, respectively for the amazing photos.