He texts from an unknown number, knows what you will do before you do it, and swears you were married in a life you have not lived yet.
A sea-fae prince can only wear a man's shape between the tides, and he has come to your pier museum to spend the very last low water before his court drags him home.
He came home hollowed out and rented the room above your darkroom shop, the one place that still smells like before. At 4 a.m. you found him developing the same frame he can never bring himself to print.
