I awoke on a cold beach, face down. Looking up, I could see the waves lapping angrily at the grains of sand, the patrons moving quickly, as if a monster were on the loose. I pulled myself up by my arms, knees tucked under me, confused and frustrated. How had I gotten here? And why did everyone seem so...terrified? It didn't take long for me to realize that there were more things to ask questions about than I had originally noticed. The most pressing in my mind? The entire world was sepia-toned, like an old faded photograph. As far as I knew, the world was not coded in shades of brown...

A stone in front of me made me stop. I reached out, picking it up. The rock was smooth and cold in my hand, an almost welcome feeling. If only it had held some warmth for my shivering body. I turned it over, and there, etched deep into the surface was one word. "Unique".

"You need to swim".

The voice was emotionless, chilling in my ear. There was a pause before I forced myself to turn and gaze upon the body belonging to the voice. If only I had looked sooner. He was exquisite. His skin was ghostly pale, a more brilliant white I had never seen before. His hair was ruler straight, long, and the blackest black I had ever laid eyes on. He dressed as if from another time, spotless white shirt, dark, buttoned-down vest, wrinkle-free trousers, and a flawless black overcoat that reached nearly to his knees, perfectly form fitted to his body. His shining black shoes had made no sound on the grainy beach, and I had not heard the perfect specimen coming. But the clothes, the skin, the hair, these things were not what made me gasp at the sight of him. No, it was his eyes. His perfect, cerulean blue eyes. The only color on this drab, black-and-white man. Those eyes were the deepest, darkest, most incredible blue I had ever seen in my years. And they stared back at me with an intensity that almost frightened me. Almost.

My first thought was that he must be a vampire. Such white skin and drowning pool eyes, surely he was one of those creatures of the night? But no, soon I would come to realize that he was little more than a man. A dead man. But a man nonetheless.

"Did you hear me, girl? I said you must swim".

Yes, I had heard him. But how was I to respond to such an angel in my midst?

He reached out with one pale hand and lifted me by my elbow to my feet. Then, pointing to the water, he turned his deadly eyes back to me.

"If you wish to live, you must take comfort in the ocean".

I'm not sure what made me listen to him. By now the waves were thrashing upon the beach with such fury, screaming their complaints without restraint. I could see, now, why the other beach-goers had been so distressed. There was a storm coming. A storm that might make all other storms look like wading pools for toddlers. The beach was no longer safe. So why, then, would anyone want to go into that maelstrom? I do not know, and I did not know any better at that time. But the beautiful man had told me to swim and like a fool I was so willing to listen to him. He had hypnotized me, or at least that's what I wanted to believe.

With one last look back at him, perfect posture, hands clasped tightly behind his back, I waded out into the water, deeper, deeper, until it crashed over me, filling my lungs, pricking every piece of my body like a thousand tiny needles. The cold was so overwhelming that in seconds I was entirely numb. Numb, and sinking...drowning...dying.

In the blackness of my own death, I did not notice the shockingly white hand that reached down and grabbed me. I didn't feel my face break the surface, nor could I hear or understand the words he was saying to me. All I knew was that I was in his arms. This man, this god, had saved me.

It would have been prudent to consider that his saving of my life was only in effect of his forcing me to nearly kill myself in the first place. But what kind of half-drowned, cold, tired, star-struck young girl really had the sort of mind to think this over with herself at the time? Not I.

"Are you alright, Arianne?"

Arianne? That wasn't my name. But I didn't really care. He was holding me, a look of concern etched across his paper white features, his crystal blue eyes. He cared. He saved me. So what if he got my name wrong? He'd never even asked it to begin with.

I wanted to ask his name. Who was this savior? Who was this story-book demon casting light in my sepia world?

I realized now, that we were still on the water. I could feel the waves rocking underneath me. Or was that just the aftershock? No, I realized, we were in a small boat, a small boat that he'd pulled from nowhere with which to save a girl from drowning in the biggest storm she'd ever witnessed. A boat. A boat?

My eyes turned up to his, the questions etched across my features.

"Names are not important", he lectured, his voice deep and sinister, yet still his tone was melodic. It was as though he'd known what I meant to ask before I'd even found my voice.

"But if you must, you may call me Venus".

**********************

This is the beginning of a story I've been trying to write for years. I've had a lot of difficulty getting the "Venus" character to my liking. I always feel as if I leave him underdeveloped. I guess you can be the judges of that? I've given this story numerous titles before and never quite felt settled on any of them, but I feel that the current title "Ocean Soul" just might work.

Please let me know what you think, I welcome constructive criticism, but do be kind, I haven't actually written anything in a long time. <3

--Faye