Page 93 of Florescentia

“Creatures of the sea?” I crossed my arms. “Why would you pay when the ocean is right there?”

She closed the book, rather hastily. Frustration. Yes, that was it.

“Is my question really that much of a nuisance?”

“No”—her deep breath and twitching brow said otherwise—“this aquarium holds endlings. None of these creatures can be found in the ocean anymore.”

“How interesting.” I tipped my head to look out my window.

In all my time not on this earth, it had never truly dawned on me that the stars I came from could play such a role in other organisms’ lives.

Stars dominated as a motif in every aspect of their culture, from clothing patterns to old carvings on stone facades. They named their stars, then named their cities after those. My collection of stars was a popular depiction, the eagle patron often appearing on official buildings or monuments. The three-eyed eagle was perched upon the entrance that our carriage stopped in front of.

The trip downtown may have been faster on foot, considering the midday traffic—foot, hoof, and wheel.

Lucia opened the door, her departure inviting in a burst of ocean air that suddenly whipped into the closed space. Some pieces of her hair escaped her elaborate braid, swimming in the quick breeze. She looked back at me, waiting.

The wind bit at my ears and nose, my eyes tearing involuntarily from the chill alone. There was a tall building in the middle of a plain park. We were at the end of the peninsula now, another shore far off in the distance. The water was just as gray as the overcast sky. Gulls sat upon the entryway arch, on and around the mighty bronze eagle staring down at us, daring us to enter.

Lucia stood beside me, even after the carriage had pulled away and pedestrians walked around us to enter.

When I looked down at her, her eyes were gazing up at the sky again. Somehow, brilliantly, her eyes shone bright. Even when the only light offered was dull and bleak, she was vibrant. Lately, the energy she gave off was quite heavy, rich. Depression always tasted thick, hard to chew, even harder to digest. It was a slow, sluggish ingestion that could keep you full for a while, but it wouldn’t feel good.

A couple passed, walking side by side. The male offered his arm to the female, who wrapped her hands around it. She smiled up at him as their excited chatter continued, then they disappeared through the dark door of the building.

I looked down at my arm, then bent my elbow in her direction.

Her eyes cut across to my arm, then up at me.

Maybe I really was settling into a human nature, because the simple gesture hurt a tinge.

Fingers wrapped around my arm.

She was holding me now. Just like that other couple. While it was one interaction, it felt like I’d done something right. A small victory in blending in.

“Ready?” I asked her.

“I should be asking you—this is your first aquarium experience.” A small upturn to the corner of her lips, then a squeeze of my arm.

With that, we ventured onward.

The aquarium opening was grand, ornate. The darkness beyond the glass doors was thick. There were no biolamps in the entrance. A hallway curved before feeding us into a grand circular room. Lining the walls, nothing but water.

The tanks were large and completely lined in lead-coated iron frames. Their extravagance and complicated details didn’t disguise the fact that these were cages; they glorified it. Motifs of the constellation patrons were scattered in details hidden in the ironwork.

There were small open pools toward the middle and scattered about. Small, juvenile humans touched the clear water, letting little fry peck at their hands. Quick squeals erupted upon touching a disgruntled crustacean.

The visibility of the dark room was surprising without any built-in lights. But then a small shimmer occurred when the water lapped against the glass. The small plankton in the biolamps filled the tanks for visibility and, I suspected, environmental balance.

Something like a bullet through water. It was so quick it made me question if it was really there. Even as I stepped closer to the glass, the water was just a foggy blue.

The dart again.

Then it swished past the glass. A whiskered friend, playful as it swam in loops. Its sleek skin allowed it to cut through water like a lead bullet.

“What is that?” I stared, then two more of the species joined it.

“A seal,” Lucia said, looking less impressed than I.