Pearls in my ovary

by Elizan_Chronicles

Summary:

Esmé-Lottie is fifteen, terminally ill, and slowly coming undone.
In a quiet coastal town, where the sea should be safe and endless, Esmé carries pain in her body and secrets in her pockets

a polished pearl, a wooden oyster, and a growing fear that beautiful things are only meant to disappear.
Between hospital visits, broken friendships, and a father who left too much unsaid, she keeps finding herself pulled toward the shoreline… and a silver-eyed owl who might be magic, might be grief, or might be both.
The ocean is sick. Esmé is sicker. And somewhere between dreams and waking, something is stealing crowns.
A story about grief, growing up too fast, and learning how to love a world that might never be saved.

Notes:

Ok guys this might sound carzy but believe me when I say this is the foundation of the Elizan Saga, I left this to rot in novelist! lol :/ >:P

Chapter 1: Bigger battles

I’ve always been a sick child.
My immune system never played fair, my body a hotel for every bug that wandered by. I thought I knew what “weak” felt like, but this… this is different. This isn’t a cold I can sleep off, or a bruise that fades. Life is so unfair.

I lunged for the volleyball, but my stomach tightened like a fist inside me. I paused, gripping my side. What now? I can’t even play a game I used to love. Is this exhaustion… or something worse?
My legs trembled. The world tilted, and I had to catch myself on the net. Everyone’s staring. Don’t collapse. Don’t make a scene. I forced a shaky breath. I’ve dealt with fevers,infections, endless doctor visits…this is new.
And I don’t like it. By the end of practice, fatigue dragged at me like a tide. My shorts felt tight, my stomach bloated, and every step reminded me that my body was betraying me. Frankie called my name, worry in her voice, but I just shook my head. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. It’s nothing.
That night, lying in bed, the pain in my abdomen wouldn’t let me sleep. I could feel it, a strange heaviness, like tiny pearls forming inside me, hidden and growing. When the doctor finally told me it was ovarian cancer, my heart sank, and the unfairness of life hit harder than ever. I’ve survived many minor battles, and now… this?

this?

My mum hugs me tightly, ruffling my hair. Her tears slide down, warm and steady. Mine? Stuck somewhere in my throat. I can’t speak. My body won’t move. My brain can’t think. Everything is too much, and yet… she’s here, holding me anyway.
The drive home is quiet. Just the radio, playing the same song for what feels like years. I think it’s Dad’s favorite.

Shifting tides

It’s been four months since the diagnosis.
They found it too late. The doctors tried to catch me up on tests and pills, but I can feel the pearls growing bigger. I can feel I don’t have long.
I still remember the day Mum told Dad. He was in Wales at the time. It was painful to hear his voice God, I miss him.
“Calrie?” Mum’s voice shook like never before. Even over the phone, Dad knew it was important.
“Hey… it’s been a while. What’s the matter?”
“Lot-”
And I stopped listening after that. I already knew what came next.
My parents named me Esmé-Lottie because they couldn’t decide on just one. Mum calls me Lottie; Dad calls me Esmé. Maybe that was the first sign;
they couldn’t even agree on my name. They divorced when I was fourteen. I never found out why, but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. I won’t get to live to Mum’s age anyway.

Esmé yawned and closed her journal. It was late. She’d been reminiscing about life before… before that happened.
She picked up her snow globe, gave it a small shake, and watched the flakes drift and settle. The motion soothed her, soft and slow, until her eyelids grew heavy.
School night.

A new routine

“I don’t want your pity. I want you to be normal,” I told Frankie. She knows I hate pity, but she’s addicted to giving it anyway. Just like the rest of my stupid classmates. None of them even talked to me outside of PE before, and now suddenly everyone cares.
“Right, sorry, Lot,” Frankie said. “Wanna go to the beach? Like… normal?”
We always go to the beach after school. Our town’s one of those pretty coastal ones, with clean sand and water the color of blue glass. It used to feel like freedom.
But today, the idea of walking all the way there feels impossible. I’m tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix. Tired in my bones. In my head. In everything.
“Sorry,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’ve gotta get home. Treatments, you know?”
It’s a lie. A small one. But easier than saying I can’t. I’m too tired. Even the sea feels far away now.
“Oh… okay. See you later,” Frankie said. She waved, and I waved back, turning left and pretending it didn’t hurt to leave her standing there.

I walked up the stairs slowly. Before… I used to be able to skip two steps at a time.
Not anymore.
I sat on the edge of my bed and let myself fall back gently, like even gravity had to be careful with me. I hate pills, but it’s either painkillers or stomach problems, and I’m too tired to deal with both.
My room is jellyfish-and-owl themed. Dad says it’s childish, but I guess I’m going to be a child forever. I won’t have to pay taxes, or get a job, or even finish my exams.
I won’t be alive for any of it.
That realization hit me all at once.
I won’t be there for Frankie’s wedding.
I won’t be her maid of honor like we planned when we were ten.
My baby cousins will grow up hearing stories about me, but they’ll never know what I actually sounded like, or what made me laugh, or how my feet get tingly when I cried too hard. They’ll only know the version of me other people remember. Not the real me.
I blinked away the thoughts and stared at the ceiling.
I’m gonna draw now, I told myself.
If I can get up.
What dose the sea look like?

I reached for my sketchbook, fingers trembling, but at least it felt familiar.
“The view outside my window is beautiful,” I whispered to myself, staring at the sinking sun over the tide. I’d never really noticed how the sunlight hit the waves, golden and soft, curling like it belonged to the sea itself.
An idea sparked. What if I drew the sea as a person? The sun could be her crown, glowing over her head as she spread her arms across the horizon. And at night… an owl could perch on the branch of a tree behind the beach, watching quietly. Maybe the owl liked the sea too. Or maybe it was a pet — no, a pet owl sounded way cooler.
I started sketching, letting my pencil follow the rhythm of the waves, the curl of the sun’s glow, the delicate wings of the owl. For a moment, the room faded, the pills, the pain, everything outside my sketchbook didn’t exist. But the sea is massive. There’s no way she could take care of every coral, every fish. She’d need help. Maybe an assistant.

An octopus would be perfect — smart, clever, able to manage things efficiently. But I like jellyfish more. They float, drifting wherever the current takes them, delicate but resilient.
Maybe the jellyfish could look after the south and west, and the octopus could take the north and east. That way, everything gets some attention, nothing falls through the cracks.
I smiled to myself as I sketched them in, imagining the octopus with a tiny pair of spectacles, scribbling notes, while the jellyfish lazily glided across the water, tending to her patch with calm grace.
The pencil seemed to have a mind of its own. The jellyfish got white hair streaked with pink, navy blue, and purple highlights. The octopus had fierce, fire-colored hair, curling and crackling like tiny flames.
These might be my favorite drawings yet.
But… God, it takes so much thinking. And thinking takes energy. Energy I no longer have.
I’m tired. So tired.

I rested the pencil on the page, too tired to lift it again. The jellyfish floated lazily across the paper, tentacles curling, colors shimmering in my mind even if my eyes were closing. The octopus’s fiery hair seemed to flicker like embers in the dark.
Somewhere between thought and dream, the sea grew larger, stretching beyond the edges of my room. I could hear the gentle rush of waves, feel the tide pulling me softly into its embrace. The jellyfish and octopus drifted beside me, faithful companions in a world I could control, even if only here, in ink and graphite.
My eyelids grew heavier. My chest relaxed. For a moment, the pills, the tests, the pain; none of it existed. There was only the sea, only the light of the sun, the soft flapping of an owl’s wings, and the creatures I had given life to with a pencil and a tired hand.
I fell asleep, still holding onto them, still holding onto the tide

The sea look like…

I must have dozed off at my desk. The pencil still rested in my hand, the drawings unfinished.
When I woke, it was midnight. Moonlight spilled through the window, casting silver streaks across my room. My parents might have moved me to my bed while I slept,a note lay on the kitchen counter:
“Dinner’s on the counter. If you’re hungry, help yourself.”
And there it was — the owl. It had always been there, perched quietly in the corner of my window, watching. Tonight, it caught my attention, and inspiration sparked.
I slipped on my slippers and followed it outside, barefoot on the cool pavement. It glided ahead, silent and sure, down the path toward the beach.
The tide whispered against the shore, the moonlight shimmering on the water. My world — my sea — waited, just like in my drawings.

I sat on the cold sand, letting the wind kiss my hair. Watching the sea, knees tucked close, under the moon and stars… it felt better than any late morning.
The owl sat next to me, her coat shimmering silver like the moonlight. She moved closer, tilting her head at me.
I was never good with animals; they always seemed to know I was sick. But this owl… either it didn’t care, or it didn’t have survival instincts.
There was something in her beak… A pink-and-white pearl.
“Where do you get that from?” I asked in surprise. Maybe I had brain cancer too; birds couldn’t speak.
The owllet’s tiny wings pointed toward the sea. Owls aren’t exactly good swimmers… but I didn’t question the little miracles in my life, not when they were so rare.
I gently took the pearl from her beak. She blinked once, then flew away. Maybe her job was done.
I stayed on the sand a little longer, holding the pearl in my hand, letting the tide whisper its secrets to me.

I twirled the pearl between my fingers, letting it replace the moon for a moment. The sea looked like a pearl in its own way;the way it shone through the dark, a flat pearl with no oyster to hold it. And as much as I wished the sea were my home, a place that could hold me in her embrace… it wasn’t. It was just a beautiful disguise over a life I still had to return to. A bricked jail pretending to be peace.

Chapter 2: Moring comes anyways

Notes:

Not everyone has your heart, and you can’t expect them to act like they do. - Honeycomb

Going back to sleep was easy.
Waking up was hard.
Tuesday, the twelfth of… whatever month it is. I don’t know. I don’t care. Morning is here anyway, dragging me with it, and I have to get ready.
I shuffled to the bathroom, blinking against the ugly bathroom light. I brushed my teeth slowly, the mint burning my tongue more than usual. Everything feels sharper lately. Louder. Heavier.
I took my pills with the smallest sip of water, even though the bottle said full glass. The painkillers slid down like stones. I stared at the label, reminding myself: doctor’s appointment after school. Again.
It’s not even eight in the morning and I’m already tired.

Before moving, my eyes found the pearl tucked in my oyster-shaped jewelry holder. I twirled it once between my fingers, remembering the owl at the beach. Its little wings had pointed toward the sea, like it knew something I didn’t. The memory made me smile despite the heaviness in my chest. Small miracles existed, if only in tiny, unexpected ways.
My mom called from downstairs, voice gentle but firm.
“Breakfast, Esmé? You okay?”
I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
By the time I got to school, the hallways were buzzing with noise and half-hearted smiles. And there was Frankie, leaning against the lockers like nothing had changed.
“Morning, Lot,” she said, grinning. “You okay?”
I shrugged. “Better than yesterday.”

She laughed softly, but there was a hesitation in her eyes. “Uh… I wanted to tell you something. About Chloe.”
My stomach tightened. I already knew this wasn’t going to be good.
“She… she doesn’t want to hang out with you anymore. But she still wants to be friends with me.” Frankie’s words were careful, gentle, but it didn’t soften the punch.
I blinked, keeping my voice steady. “Of course she does. I’m… I’m sick. She’s… not.”
Frankie hesitated. “I just thought you should know. I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. Chloe had chosen herself, and I couldn’t blame her. But it still hurt like sharp little waves crashing in my chest.
I stared at the pearl in my pocket, feeling its smooth weight. Some things — like the sea, like the owl, like tiny miracles — were still mine. The rest… I had to let go, even if it stung like hornets.

Chloe the hornet

After second periods I just sat with my small group of friends, Ollie and Frankie. Sickness really shows who your true friends are — the ones who stick around for more than just fun.
“It’s not fair though. We’ve been with her since…” Ollie started counting on his fingers. “Forever.”
“I want to confront her,” I said. I don’t do hush-hush. I say it to your face, and it’s your
problem on how you deal with it.
“I don’t know… she doesn’t do well under pressure, and—”
“And? If she was sick, I would be by her side!” I thought. It didn’t matter before, but now… it does.
“But you can’t expect everyone to act like you and do things the way you would!”
“Even if it’s morally correct?!”
“Yes! Nobody is a clone of one another.”
“Stop using big words and arguing against each other. Me and Lot will go confront her. Come if you want,” Ollie said, standing up.
We left the small courtyard together, the morning sun warm on our faces. The air smelled faintly of grass and chalk dust, and I felt my chest tighten. This was going to hurt, but I had to do it.

We found Chloe by the edge of the courtyard, laughing at something one of her friends said. The popular group she hung with clustered around her like a shield. She noticed us and tilted her head, a smirk playing on her lips.
“Well, if it isn’t Esmé,” she drawled, voice sharp, amused. “And who are these?”
“Ollie,” I said simply. “And me.”
Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Ollie? Really? That’s… cute.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm.
“I wanted to talk,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “About you ditching me.”
Her smirk didn’t fade. “Oh, that. Look, I don’t have to explain myself, Lot.”
I blinked, surprised at her boldness. “You don’t?”
“Nope.” She laughed lightly, flipping her hair like it didn’t matter. “I like hanging out with my friends. That’s all. You’ve… changed, anyway. It’s sad, really.”
My chest tightened, but I squared my shoulders. “You don’t get to decide who I am based on what you’re comfortable with. I’m sick, yes — but that doesn’t make me invisible. And I thought we were friends. That mattered to me.”

She shrugged. “I’m not your parent, and I’m not your nurse. I’m Chloe fucking Angel. You do you. I do me.”
A small circle had formed around us, whispers and stifled laughs from people who had nothing better to do. I ignored them, focusing on Chloe.
Ollie stepped closer. “You don’t get to treat her like that.”
Chloe scoffed. “Oh, please. It’s called surviving high school, Ollie. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
I felt my jaw tighten, the pearl in my pocket pressing against my leg like a reminder of small miracles. “Fine,” I said quietly but firmly. “Do what you want. But don’t act like it doesn’t hurt people. Especially friends.”
Chloe smirked one last time before turning back to her group. “Noted,” she said, barely loud enough to be sarcastic. Then she walked away, the circle breaking apart like nothing had happened.
I exhaled, letting the tension slide off me slowly. Ollie nudged me gently. “You okay?”
I nodded, tucking the pearl deeper into my pocket. Some battles weren’t loud, but they still mattered.

I nodded and turned away.
“I need some time alone,” I told Ollie.
He squeezed my arm once and left me to breathe.
I sat on the school steps, hugging my knees. Chloe was awful. This wasn’t the girl I knew in fifth grade the one who shared snacks and secrets and said we’d be best friends forever.
It’s not fair.
Sickness should only affect my physical health, not my social and mental health. It’s supposed to be three separate health bars, not conjoined triplets draining at the same speed.
Footsteps approached and I knew them. Ryan always stomped, like the world owed him space. He ended up sitting beside me on the step, neither of us speaking for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I really am.”

No longer on the left foot but the right

I let out a dry laugh. “Only saying that because you think I don’t have long to live? Huh?”
Me and Ryan never got off on the right foot. If my day was bad, he would make it worse. Now that I’m… slowly dying, he feels guilty. Like if I died tomorrow, I’d die clutching a grudge with his name carved into it. And honestly? I don’t blame him for thinking that.
He swallowed. “No. Not because of that. Just… because I was a jerk. And I didn’t want to pretend I wasn’t.”
I sighed, rubbing my eyes. “Sorry. Ignore me. It’s fine. Apology accepted. Turned a new leaf or something?”
He shrugged. “Trying to.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes, the noise of the courtyard fading behind us.
“I heard what happened with Chloe,” Ryan said finally, his voice low.
I shrugged, staring at my shoes. “Yeah. Not much to say. People change.”
“Yeah… but I didn’t think she’d” he trailed off, then looked at me. “I just wanted to say… you don’t deserve that.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t want pity, Ryan. I want people to act normal. Not like I’m fragile china waiting to break.”

He nodded, quiet this time, and I could tell he understood. Or at least, he was trying.
The bell rang. Sharp, shrill, dragging me back into reality. I pushed myself up from the steps, feeling every ounce of tiredness, every bit of soreness from yesterday’s treatments.
“See you in class?” he asked.
I shrugged again. “Yeah. Just… keep it normal, okay?”
He grinned faintly. “Normal.”
I turned toward the hall, thinking about the doctor’s appointment after school, about Chloe, about the pearl in my pocket, and how nothing in life ever seemed as simple as it should.
Design Tech was next, and by the time I walked into the workshop, a dull ache had already settled in my stomach. Not sharp, not unbearable just that quiet reminder that my body wasn’t mine anymore.
Mr. Jarvis clapped his hands together. “Today, you’ll be sketching a design for something you’ll later carve from wood. Anything you want. Something practical, personal, or decorative.”

I sat at my workstation, the stool cold under my legs. Practical. Personal. Decorative.
Easy choices, but nothing felt easy anymore.
The ache in my stomach tightened, and I curled forward slightly. I tried to breathe past it, letting my pencil hover over my page.
A holder. A small one. Something gentle and curved. Something that could keep the pearl safe.
The pearl.
The owl.
The sea.
All the tiny miracles I was trying to collect before my time ran out.
I began sketching — a small wooden oyster, split open just slightly, carved soft and smooth so the pearl could rest in the center. A home for something fragile. Something precious. Something I didn’t want to lose.
Ollie glanced over at my drawing. “That’s actually sick,” he whispered. “Like… in the good way.”

I snorted. “Thanks. It’s for something special.”
Chloe sat two tables away. I felt her eyes on me once, twice then she quickly looked away, flipping her hair like I was a shadow. The ache in my stomach pulsed again, this time spreading in a hot wave across my side. I straightened in my seat, pretending it didn’t hurt.
“Next week,” Mr. Jarvis said, passing by, “you’ll start carving your designs into the wood blocks.”
I nodded, pressing my hand lightly to my stomach under the desk.
A little pain. A little pearl.
Everyone else had futures to carve.
All I had was this moment.

Coming back

English dragged on like it always did after lunch. Ms. Harper was talking about metaphors, which would’ve been ironic if I wasn’t already living one. My stomach still ached from Design Tech — a slow, rolling pain that made it hard to sit still.
I rested my cheek on my hand, doodling tiny jellyfish in the margin of my notebook. Little drifting bodies with soft, trailing tentacles. Easier to look at than the board.
Halfway through fourth period, the classroom phone rang.
Everyone paused. Classroom phones always felt like bad news.
Ms. Harper answered softly, then looked directly at me.
“Esmé, the office needs you. Bring your things.”

A quiet ripple went through the room. Some kids looked at me with those pity-eyes I hated. Others pretended not to stare. Ryan lifted his head from across the room, brow creasing a little.
I packed slowly, trying not to wince when my stomach twisted again. Ms. Harper gave me a small, sad smile; the kind adults think is comforting.
The hallway felt too big and too bright as I walked to the office.
Inside, the receptionist smiled politely.
“Your dad’s here to take you to your appointment, sweetie. Your mom had to stay late.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Dad stood up when he saw me, pushing his sunglasses into his hair. He looked like he’d rushed — shirt wrinkled, hair messy, worry hidden in the corners of his eyes.

“Hey, Esmé,” he said gently. “Ready to go?”
Ready? No.
But going wasn’t optional.
I shrugged, hugging my bag strap. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
He opened the office door for me, and as I stepped outside, the pearl in my pocket tapped gently against my thigh like a reminder of the small miracles I was trying to collect, even on days like this.

Notes:

I have a Spotify playlist for Emsé Lottie! If you want it and I can give or make it public somehow?

Aslo long chapter so I added subchapters :D

Chapter 3: The shoreline

Summary:

Guy this chapter is longer then I expected so I made subchapter now chapters but they are still subchapter until I say other wise

Notes:

Family can be divided by walls no one builds with love. But with distance.- honeycomb

He buckled in, glanced at me, then at the road.
“So… how was school?”
A classic Dad question. One he hadn’t asked me in, what — six years?
I shrugged. “It was school.”
“Right. Right.” He nodded like he was checking off a box. “And your friends? Frankie and Ollie? And uh, yeah…Chloe? They’re still around?”
I blinked. “You remember their names?”
He smiled weakly. “I remember everything, Esmé.”
Except how to stay, I wanted to say.
Except me.
The silence stretched and stretched until it felt like a rope between us.

He cleared his throat. “I… uh… your brothers would like you. They’re loud. And cute. Milo talks nonstop.”
He laughed a little, but it felt forced.
“And Sophie…uh..she’s about your age. You’d get along.”
I stared out the window.
“They don’t know I exist, do they?”
He froze.
The car hit a red light, but he didn’t look at me. Not yet.
“No,” he finally said, voice barely audible. “They don’t. I… I didn’t know how to tell them. Or when.”
He swallowed hard. “But I want to. I really do.”
The ache in my stomach wasn’t just physical anymore.
“I don’t need them to know,” I said quietly. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, Lottie.”
Hearing him say his version of my name felted like a bruise being pressed.
He finally turned to look at me.
“I’m trying, honey. I’m really trying.”
I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh, so I did neither.
I just nodded and watched the world blur past the window, the pearl in my pocket warm against my leg like a reminder that my life was full of secret worlds — even ones my own family didn’t know.

The Clinc

The clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic and flowers, a strange combination that made my stomach twist in ways unrelated to my ache. Dad followed behind me, quiet, hands gripping the steering wheel like he wanted to hold on to something real.
We were called in almost immediately. The doctor’s office was small, bright, and too clean.
“Esmé-Lottie?” a nurse said, smiling. “Come on in.”
I stepped forward, Dad hovering near the door.
The doctor greeted me warmly, but there was a seriousness in her eyes that made my chest tighten.
“Hi, Esmé. How have you been feeling?”
I shrugged. “Tired. Stomach hurts sometimes. The usual.”
She nodded, typing something into the computer. “We’ll do a quick exam and review your recent scans and blood work. Okay?”

The exam wasn’t painful, just… awkward. My stomach ached more as she pressed lightly, and I focused on the small pearl in my pocket, rubbing it between my fingers like it could anchor me.
“Your scans show some growth,” she said gently. “We need to plan carefully. Surgery may be necessary, and we’ll discuss options for treatment.”
I nodded, letting the words wash over me without really hearing them. My pearl pressed against my palm, and I imagined the sea holding me, tides rocking gently. My body felt like it belonged somewhere else somewhere safer.
Dad cleared his throat, voice small. “What… what can we do, doctor?”
“We’ll take it step by step,” she said. “Esmé, we’ll make sure you have support. It’s a lot to process, but you’re not alone.”
I glanced at Dad. His hands twitched on the edge of the chair. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come.

“You okay, honey?” he asked finally, voice soft.
I shrugged again, tired. “Yeah. I’m… fine.”
But inside, I wasn’t fine. Not really.
I held the pearl tighter, imagining it safe in its tiny wooden oyster — a fragile world I could control.
Outside the window, sunlight glinted on the trees, and I wished I could disappear into the tides, just for a moment, away from hospital smells, words I didn’t want, and grown-ups trying to fix something they couldn’t see.

Notes:

Illness is a thief that takes your future one day at a time. And im sorry for anyone who had to go through terminal illness, and those who survived got my full respect and sympathy and those who died, I will always carry your memory in my heart forever, so you can live forever in my heart. Hoped you enjoyed

Chapter 4: Washed upped

Summary:

Subchapter

Notes:

Distance made by divorce can’t erase the echo of a parent’s love, as endless as the ocean. - Honeycomb

The drive home was quiet. Dad didn’t talk much, just kept one hand on the wheel and the other tapping lightly against his leg. I stared out the window, watching the sunlight glint on the rooftops, trying to imagine it as waves on the shore.
My stomach ached in ways that weren’t just physical tight, heavy, full of words unsaid and futures I couldn’t reach. I held the pearl in my pocket, rubbing it gently between my fingers. Safe. Small. Mine.
When we finally pulled up to the house, Dad didn’t rush me. He left the engine running, letting the quiet stretch between us.
“You okay?” he asked finally, voice soft.”I know I already askedyou… but are you really okay?
I nodded, though I wasn’t. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
He didn’t press. Instead, he opened the car door for me. I stepped out, the breeze touching my hair, carrying the faint scent of salt and sand.

The shoreline wasn’t far just past the edge of the town, where the road curved and the houses thinned. My chest tightened. I wanted it all to stop. Just for a moment, I wanted the sea to hold me.
Dad glanced at me. “Want to… walk a little? Stretch?”
I hesitated. Then nodded. Somehow, being here the sand, the wind, the vast, endless sea — made the ache in my stomach a little easier to bear.

Dad and daughter save the sea

The sand was cool beneath my shoes, and the wind tugged gently at my hair. Dad walked beside me, a few steps back, like he didn’t want to crowd me but couldn’t stand too far away.
“You always loved the beach,” he said softly. “Even when you were little. Mom told me.”
I shrugged, staring at the horizon. “I still do. Some things… don’t change.”
He nodded, quiet for a moment, letting the waves fill the silence. “I missed this. Missed you.”
I kept my eyes on the water. “Yeah… I-.”
He gave a small laugh, nervous, almost embarrassed. “I know I haven’t been around much. And I… I’m sorry. I’m trying now.”
I twirled the pearl in my pocket without looking at him, imagining it floating in the tide. “Trying’s good. Better late than never.”
He slowed, matching my pace, glancing at me. “You don’t have to say anything, you know. Just… walking. That’s enough for me.”
And for a moment, it was. The sea stretched endlessly, the tide pulling back and forth like a slow, steady heartbeat. I let my shoulders relax a fraction, letting the sound of the waves and the wind carry a weight I hadn’t realized I was holding.

We walked along the shoreline, sand crunching beneath our shoes, when something small and translucent caught my eye.
A jellyfish had washed up, its delicate body glimmering faintly in the morning light, stranded and helpless. My stomach tightened—not just from the ache that never fully left—but from the sight of it.
“Dad…” I whispered. He glanced down where I was pointing.
“Oh… wow,” he said softly, crouching beside me. “Poor thing.”
I knelt carefully in the sand, hand hovering over its jelly-like body. “We have to help it back,” I said.
He nodded, gently scooping it up with both hands. “On three?”
“On three,” I agreed.
Together, we carried it toward the edge of the tide. The water lapped at our feet, cold but familiar. Dad held it steady, careful not to hurt it. I guided him, my fingers brushing against his as we moved. For the first time in years, I felt a flicker of something warm a connection, subtle but real.

We lowered the jellyfish into the water, and it floated, bobbing, turning back toward the open sea. A tiny triumph.
I exhaled, smiling faintly. “It’s okay now.”
Dad stood beside me, quiet. “You’re pretty amazing, you know,” he said. “Not just helping the jellyfish… just… you.”
I blinked at him, not sure what to say. The pearl in my pocket seemed to pulse against my leg, like it approved.
The tide pulled in and out, steady and endless. And for a few moments, the world felt a little lighter, and the distance between us felt a little smaller.
“You know… the sea won’t last forever,” he said, his gaze fixed on the rolling water. The lines around his eyes pulled tight with something like regret.
“Well, yeah. In a million years,” I muttered.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed and shout out to https://www.instagram.com/rose_carmeenn/ she makes cool art and dose commissions on a fair price! Here’s the link insta is Carmen

Chapter 5: Oil spill and a village

Summary:

Final subchapter so next post is a chapter amd it will be tomorrow!

Notes:

Rainbows on water, death below—it’s the prettiest kind of cruelty - Honeycomb

My dad nudged my elbow, a gentle tap meant to soften the moment.
“Don’t get sassy with me now,” he warned, but there was the smallest smile tugging at his mouth. It disappeared almost as quickly as it came. He inhaled slowly, the way he did when something heavy sat on his chest.
“There’s a reason more jellyfish and other sea creatures are washing up,” he said quietly. “It’s not just nature doing its thing.”
He paused, scanning the darkening horizon like he expected to see the truth floating there.
“There’s an oil company in the next town over
maybe a village, I don’t even know what they call it anymore. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is what they’re doing.” His voice roughened. “They’ve been dumping waste into the sea.”
The waves whispered against the rocks, as if the ocean itself was listening.
“You can’t imagine what it’s like,” he said, eyes fixed on the water. “Seeing sheets of thick, black sludge sliding through blue water like ink bleeding from a wounded creature. It scares everything away!jellyfish, fish… even the birds circle less.”

For a moment, he looked smaller than I’d ever seen him, like the tide was pulling all the strength out of him.
“I can’t do anything about it,” he said. “As much as I love this place… as much as I wish I could fix it… it would take years. And I don’t have years.”
He stared down at his hands scarred, cracked, tired—and clenched them until the knuckles turned white.
“Never mind,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t trouble you with that. I just…” He exhaled shakily. “I hate watching something so beautiful disappear right in front of me.”

Hometime

After a few more steps, the tide began to pull back, and the chill in the air reminded us it was time to head home.
Dad fell into step beside me again, quiet now, his hand brushing mine occasionally as if testing the waters of this new connection. I didn’t pull away.
The sand felt colder under my shoes as we walked back, the gulls wheeling above and the faint scent of salt clinging to my coily hair.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
I nodded. “Yeah. Better than this morning.”
He smiled faintly, a little awkward, but genuine. “Good. That’s good.”

We reached the car, and I glanced back at the shoreline one last time. The jellyfish had drifted farther out, bobbing gently with the waves. Small things, fleeting things… but somehow, enough to remind me that even fragile things could survive.
Dad opened the door for me. “Ready to go?”
I slid inside and buckled up, letting the engine start. The sea stretched behind us, endless, patient, and waiting. I held the pearl in my pocket, feeling its weight against my leg, and thought about the small victories, the moments that made life worth holding onto,even if they were fleeting.

Notes:

I love my hyphens and dashes but sadly I have to reduce the use of it 🤦‍♀️☹️

Chapter 6: Tides at home

Summary:

Ok this a new chapter, and it’s kinda short compared to my other ones

Notes:

They told me to forget, but memory clings like salt — impossible to wash off, even when it burns. - Honeycomb

Dad told me to forget it.
Forget the jellyfish, forget the oil company, forget the thick black sludge sliding through the blue like ink from a wounded creature.
But it stuck.
It stuck the way everything sticks lately right in the center of my chest, in a spot I can’t reach or rub out or swallow down.
The sea was supposed to be untouchable. Safe. Eternal.
And yet… it was being poisoned quietly, slowly, by something no one bothered to see until it was too late.
I sat on my bed, running my thumb along the small pearl in my palm, and the thought hit me harder than I expected:
What if beautiful things don’t get saved?
What if they just fade? Or wash up on the sand hoping someone notices before it’s too late?

My stomach pulsed again, a familiar ache. I pressed my hand to it, breathing through my teeth.
Dad might be able to pretend things can be fixed.
Mom might still hope.
Frankie might still believe I’ll make it to graduation.
But I don’t have years.
I don’t even have three.
The pearl slipped between my fingers, landing softly in my oyster-shaped holder. I curled under the blanket, pulling it up to my chin, listening to the house settle.
I should be thinking about English homework.
About Frankie.
About Chloe being a snake.
But all I can think about is the sea — how it’s dying, quietly, the same way I am.
And no matter how hard I try, I can’t forget.

Texting gulit

My phone buzzed against my blanket, a tiny interruption breaking through the heavy silence.
Frankie: Hey… sorry I didn’t come with you and Ollie earlier.
Another buzz.
Frankie: I just froze. I’m really sorry, Lot.
I stared at the messages, my thumb hovering. Frankie never used punctuation unless she was nervous. My stomach twisted — not from the pain this time, but from guilt.
I typed slowly:
Me: It’s not your fault
The typing bubble appeared instantly.
Frankie: But I left you alone with her. And I shouldn’t have.
I sighed into my pillow.
Me: You didn’t leave me. Ollie was there. And… I wasn’t exactly nice either.
Frankie responded almost immediately.
Frankie: You weren’t mean. You were honest.

 

I let out a tiny laugh — tired, but real.
Me: Maybe. But honesty doesn’t have to elbow people in the throat.
A beat.
Frankie: Ok… that’s fair. But still. I’m here now. Always.
That last word settled warm and soft in my chest.
Always.
Even if I didn’t have years…
Even if my world was shrinking like the tide…
Frankie was still there.
Holding her part of the shoreline with me.

Sleepy Sea

The conversation dribbled off into comfortable silence the kind only real friends can sit in without it feeling weird. My phone dimmed in my hand, and I let it drop onto the blanket.
The exhaustion hit all at once.
Not the normal kind…
Not the “I stayed up too late” kind…
But the deep, bone-heavy tiredness that lived inside me now, like something filling up my ribs with sand.
My eyelids drooped. I tried to fight it honestly, I did — but my body wasn’t asking anymore. It was telling.
I shifted under the covers, pulling them up to my chin. The pearl stayed in its little oyster holder on my desk, catching the last bit of light from the window. It glowed faintly, like it was keeping watch for me.
I thought, just before sleep fully settled over me:
If the sea could sleep, maybe it would sleep like this;heavy, quiet, waiting for the tide to return.
My breath slowed. The room blurred.
And then I was gone, swallowed by the kind of sleep you don’t choose the kind that chooses you.

Notes:

Hoped you enjoyed, what did you lose that was important to you? For me it when I lost my umbrella, I made it and loved it like how a mother loves her child
:(

Chapter 7: The Crown

Notes:

The sea was still there, but poisoned — and so was everything I loved - Honeycomb

The sea was there, but wrong.
Its waves weren’t blue.
They were bruised — streaked with thick black ribbons of oil that twisted through the water like veins under sick skin.
The Sea-girl I always drew stood in the shallows, her crown made of sunlight slipping crooked on her head. She didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She just stared at me with hollow eyes, like she was waiting for something awful to happen.
Then it did.
An eagle burst through the clouds, its wings slicing the air like knives. It dove low, fast, and before I could blink it snatched the Sea-lady’s crown right off her head.
She gasped — or maybe that was me — and stumbled backward. The oil touched her toes, then her ankles, then her knees.
She sank without fighting it.
“Wait—wait!” I shouted, sprinting after the eagle, after the crown, after anything I could still save.

But the sand wasn’t sand anymore.
It was shifting, invisible rock, rising just enough to catch my foot.
I fell.
And the moment my skin hit the black water, it grabbed me like hands.
Pulling.
Dragging.
Clawing me down, down, down
The eagle soared above me, the stolen crown glinting in its talons.
Then, with a cruel flutter, it dropped it.
The crown fell through the air and landed perfectly onto the head of a pig standing on a tiny island I swear hadn’t been there a second ago. The pig squealed triumphantly, like it had won something it never deserved.

I tried to reach for it, for the Sea-Lady, for anything.
But the oil pulled me deeper, swallowing me whole.
And just as the last of the light above me faded
A shadow swept across the water.
Soft.
Silent.
Familiar.
An owl.
Hovering just over the surface, wings wide, watching me sink.
Then everything went black.

Luca, Midnight friends

I shot upright, gasping.
The nightmare clung to me like wet sheets. The sea had been wrong — black ribbons of oil twisting through the water like veins, the eagle stealing the crown, the tiny pig on its strange island. I shivered, pressing my face into my pillow.
And then the ache hit. My stomach, sharp and twisting, the kind that made me curl forward and clutch myself like I could hold it together by force.
“Not now,” I whispered, my voice trembling. But it didn’t listen. My body never did.
I dragged myself to the window and nudged it open just a crack. The cool night air hit my face and my hair, carrying the scent of the sea.
The owl was there. Perched, silent, patient.
I let it wait. For a moment, I just breathed.

“Ugh,” I groaned, leaning against the sill. “Why does everything suck tonight? The nightmare… the black sea… the eagle… the pig… I can’t even explain it properly. And then… Chloe. She’s being awful. And Frankie… she’s trying, but I don’t want to hurt her by snapping. And Dad…” My voice broke a little. “Dad… he has this whole new family now. Two! Little boys. A half-sister my age. And I… I’m just… forgotten, like I never existed. I can’t even say hi to them.”
The owl blinked at me. Slowly. Softly.
“I know,” I said bitterly, laughing short and tired. “You get it. You’re the only one who understands tonight.”
I hugged my knees to my chest. “You know what? I’m gonna call you Luca.”
The owl blinked once. Its feathers ruffled in the moonlight, standing taller, like it had accepted the name.

“You’re my… my midnight friend,” I whispered, voice smaller now. “Don’t leave me, okay?”
It didn’t leave.
The stomach ache eased a little, softened by the night air and the strange comfort of the bird. I sank back against the sill, closing my eyes. The moonlight spilled across my desk, touching the pearl in its oyster-shaped holder.
For the first time tonight, even with the nightmare still whispering in my mind, I felt a little less alone.
And slowly, so slowly, sleep crept over me, heavy and soft, pulling me under like the tide itself.

Notes:

Hoped you enjoyed, short chapter because next one is longer then my
enemies forehead

Chapter 8: Morning reflection

Summary:

Heyyy so this kind the end of one per day posting, since I was just copying and pasting from my novelist account, this was where I was up to before I basically quit, so it’s gonna take me long before I write it, ideas are always welcome btw

Notes:

I didn’t lose my little girl all at once — I lost her slowly, to sickness, to distance, to a life I helped split in two; she’s still here, still breathing, and yet I mourn her as if she’s already gone. - honeycomb

I sat on the edge of my bed, the pearl glinting faintly on my desk. The morning sun was soft, spilling gold across the floor, and for a moment, I let myself remember.
Before the divorce, mornings were… different. Dad would be in the kitchen, shirt sleeves rolled up, humming a tune I never knew the name of. Mom would shuffle in, hair messy, carrying a mug of coffee that smelled like warm cinnamon. They would argue sometimes, quietly, over silly things — who forgot the milk, who left the car windows down — but there was laughter hidden under it all. Even their disagreements felt safe, like the world would hold together no matter what.
I remembered sitting at the table, watching them trade teasing insults with soft smiles. Dad would ruffle my hair and wink at Mom, and Mom would roll her eyes, pretending to scold him, but she never really did. I used to think those mornings would never end.

Now, things were quiet. Too quiet. They were in the same house today, both present, but it wasn’t the same. The laughter was gone. The little gestures of love, even the arguing, had faded. I pressed my hands to my stomach, feeling the dull ache there. Part of me ached for that old comfort: for a family that felt whole, even if imperfect.
I thought about Dad’s new family. Two! Two little boys, a half-sister my age. They didn’t know me. They probably never would. And yet… I could almost see him trying to be a good father to them, just like he tried to be for me, long ago. And Mom… she was still the same, quietly fierce, quietly present, even now.
I let out a slow breath, staring at the pearl again. Even if they weren’t who they were before, even if things would never go back… the memories lingered. The warmth lingered. And for a few seconds, just for me, the morning felt safe again.

I finally peeled myself out of bed, my limbs heavy like they’d been weighed down with wet sand. Morning routines used to be automatic — brush teeth, throw on clothes, run downstairs, complain about school.
Now everything took… longer.
Everything felt like wading through honey.
I shuffled to the bathroom and caught my reflection in the mirror.
My hair was messier than usual, tangled from the night’s twisting and turning.
My eyes looked too dark, like the ocean when a storm is forming.
“Cute,” I muttered to myself, pushing my hair back with both hands.
I brushed my teeth slowly, careful not to lean too far forward in case the stomach ache returned. The mint felt too sharp. Halfway through, I had to pause, gripping the sink until the pulsing in my abdomen faded again.
“Love that for me,” I whispered, breath shaky.
Back in my room, I pulled on a soft sweater — the seafoam green one Mom bought me last year. It was comforting, like a hug I didn’t have to ask for. I grabbed my bag, slipping the little pearl into the side pocket without thinking. It felt wrong to leave it behind today.

As I moved toward the door, I glanced at the window.
Luca was gone — maybe flown back to the trees, or wherever owls hid in daylight.
But a single white feather rested on the sill, caught in a beam of sunlight.
I tucked it into my pocket with the pearl.
A small reminder of the night that felt half like a dream.
I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the rest of the day.
School.
Friends.
Chloe.
Life continuing, even when it felt like mine was shrinking.
“Okay,” I whispered to no one in particular. “Let’s get this over with.”
And I headed downstairs.

Orbits Apart: Pluto and Neptune

The kitchen smelled like toast and lemon cleaning spray — familiar, but strangely hollow, like someone had taken the warmth out and left only the scent behind.
Mom stood by the counter, hair pulled into a rushed bun, still in her work clothes from yesterday. She was stirring tea she probably wasn’t going to drink. Dad sat at the table, elbows tucked in, scrolling through his phone with stiff shoulders.
Six years ago, they would’ve been standing close together.
Six years ago, Dad would’ve been teasing Mom about how she never stirred her tea the “right way.”
Six years ago, Mom would’ve bumped his hip with hers and told him to worry about his own drink.
Now they couldn’t even look at each other long enough to breathe in sync.
Mom’s eyes flicked toward me first.
“Oh- morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep okay?”

I nodded, even though my stomach was still rolling from the nightmare. “Yeah. Fine.”
Dad finally put his phone down, clearing his throat like someone asking permission to exist.
“Morning, Esmé.”
He tried to smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.
Maybe it never did anymore.
I sat, slowly lowering myself into the chair. My legs felt heavier than yesterday. Mom noticed, but she didn’t say anything. She just pushed a small plate of toast toward me.
“You should eat at least a little,” she murmured.
The silence stretched, thin and fragile.
“So,” Dad said, voice cracking like an old floorboard, “your appointment is on Friday. I can, um… I can pick you up from school if that’s easier.”
Mom stiffened, fingers tightening around her mug.
“That’s fine, Ronni. I’ll be off early that day anyway.”
Dad nodded.
“Oh. Right. Of course.”

 

Another silence.
This was the difference.
This was the part no one warned you about when you were a kid; that two people who once loved each other enough to give you your name could turn into strangers.
Strangers who only knew how to fold their hands too tightly and speak like the air between them might shatter.
I took a bite of toast because someone had to break the moment.
Mom gave me a tired smile.
Dad looked down at his hands again.
I wondered what his new family was eating right now if they laughed in the mornings, if someone spilled cereal, if they talked without thinking first.
I used to imagine slotting back into his world someday.
But now…
Now it felt like trying to fit into clothes I’d outgrown.
Or maybe ones that were never made for me to begin with.
I swallowed hard, the toast suddenly dry in my throat.

“Can we go?” I asked. “I don’t want to be late.”
Both of them nodded at the same time.
And for the briefest moment, they shared a look not warm, not angry, just exhausted.
It wasn’t the same home.
They weren’t the same people.
And neither was I.

 

Car Rides

Mom drove today.
Dad disappeared upstairs just long enough to avoid the awkward goodbye, and I pretended not to notice. I slipped on my shoes, pulled on my bag, and paused at the door — halfway tempted to run back and grab the pearl.
But I didn’t.
The little oyster-shaped jewelry holder sat untouched on my dresser. The pearl glowed faintly in it, like it didn’t need me today. Or maybe… maybe I didn’t need it.
I closed the door behind me.
The morning air was cold, sharp enough to sting my lungs. Mom unlocked the car, and I climbed into the passenger seat, sinking back into the worn fabric. She started the engine. The heater groaned awake, filling the silence with a low hum.
We pulled out of the driveway slowly — too slowly.
Mom always drove careful when she was upset.
The town blurred past the window: pastel houses, crooked fences, the old bakery with the sign that always squeaked in the wind. I pressed my forehead gently against the cold glass.

“You’re quiet today,” Mom said softly.
“I’m always quiet,” I replied, not unkindly.
She gave a tiny, sad smile.
“Not like this.”
I didn’t answer. The car turned a corner, and the sea appeared a glimpse of blue-grey stretching between buildings, shimmering under the morning light. It looked calmer than last night. Cleaner. Almost peaceful.
My stomach tightened, not from pain this time, but from something else.
Something I didn’t have a name for.
Mom tapped her fingers against the steering wheel.
“I’m… glad yesterday went okay. With your dad, I mean.”
“Mm.”
“I know it’s… weird. Us all being in the same house again.”
“You can say terrible,” I muttered.

She huffed out a laugh — a real one, even if small.
“Yeah. Terrible works.”
We stopped at a red light. Mom glanced at me, her expression softening.
“You know,” she said quietly, “your dad and I… we’re different now. But that doesn’t mean we don’t love you the same. Even if we’re not… the people we used to be.”
I swallowed. The pearl flashed in my mind — glowing in its holder, far from my pocket.
Maybe I should have taken it.
But maybe it needed a rest from me too.
“I know,” I whispered.
The light turned green.
Mom exhaled, relieved, and kept driving.
When we pulled up to the school, the building looked too tall, too loud, too full of everything I didn’t have energy for.
“You want me to pick you up?” Mom asked.
“No. Frankie said she’ll walk with me after school. Or Ollie might.”
Mom nodded.
“Okay. Have a good day, sweetheart.”
I opened the door, the cold air hitting me again.
“You too,” I said.
I stepped out, the car pulling away slowly, and for a moment, I just stood there — backpack heavy, legs heavier, morning heavier still.
Then I joined the flow of students heading inside.

Biggest regrets

Ronni sat on the guest green bed, the one he had used before the divorce was final. His fingers traced the edge of an old photograph: Esmé’s tenth birthday, sea-themed, cheeks flushed with excitement, a grin that lit up the whole picture. Months before the divorce, he had a thousand regrets. Letting himself drift away from the happiest little girl in the world… that was the biggest mistake of all.
“Ronni?” Lucy’s voice broke the silence as she returned from dropping Esmé off.
He didn’t look up. “I… I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should’ve stayed closer. Maybe we shouldn’t have divorced. Maybe I should’ve waited until she was—”
“It was best we split apart,” Lucy interrupted gently. “We weren’t the same people anymore. Staying together would’ve hurt her more. But you should have stayed in touch — I agree. That’s all in the past now. Our girl doesn’t have long left. Let’s just try to be normal with each other… for her.”

Ronni’s voice cracked. “But what are you going to do… when she’s no longer here?”
Lucy hesitated, like she’d hasn’t thought about it. “I… don’t know.”
Silence stretched across the room. He held the photograph in his hands, staring at the little girl frozen in time. Forever loved. Forever missed.

Seafoam Cake

The house smelled of frosting and candles, sweet and sticky, drifting through every corner of the living room. Balloons bobbed lazily near the ceiling, and streamers hung like waves frozen mid-sway. Lottie ran around, cheeks flushed with excitement, her sea-themed party hat slightly crooked.
“Don’t touch the cake!” someone shouted, and a chorus of giggles followed.
Ronni sat quietly on the guest green bed, holding the photograph of that day before his divorce. But now, watching the chaos, he allowed himself a small, hidden smile. Lucy flitted between kids, making sure everyone was laughing, taking photos, and not crying over toppled cupcakes.
“Come on! Hurry up!” Lucy called, rounding everyone into the living room for the group picture.
Lottie jumped into the center, her grin brighter than the sun, arms wrapped around her friends, little hands clutching pirate swords, jellyfish plushies, and a sparkly crown that had been her mother’s idea.

“Say cheese!”
“Click.”
The final picture captured it all: laughter, chaos, and joy.
The kind of joy that, even years later, lingered in a photograph — a moment frozen in time.

Notes:

Hoped you enjoyed! Long chapter ahead , I want to do angel kids this year but I don’t really have money to buy a minimum of 5 toys or anything:(

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed, sorry it’s so long, there is subchapters so you can always come back later! :D

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Elizan Saga