The waves crash upon the sea’s roiling surface, tossing foamy waters left and right. The clouds crackle with the sounds of thunder, and lightning flies across the sky like a boomerang. Left, right, left, right. The bolts that leave the shelter of the clouds strike the water with the force of a million suns. There is not a single vessel to be seen in this vast expanse; no sane captain would dare be so reckless as to sail into such a tempest. But for the lone pegasus who rides the surf, the the greatest waves are not those at which she would tremble in fear; in her eyes, the sea is not a fearsome beast to be defeated, nor is it a force to be controlled; the waves are her friend, and like all good friends do, the waves speak to her. They listen to her. They guide her way.
She crests the waters in a tiny, wooden sailboat. The vessel is nearly falling apart; she doesn’t know by what grace of the gods it remains in one piece. The mare throws a net out into the waters; it splashes down, and the currents spread it as far as the ropes can stretch. One by one, the fish swim into it. They wriggle and writhe, their bodies struggling to escape the web in which they are trapped. The mare sweeps the net back in, pulling the whole school into the boat. It’s not the largest catch she’s had, but it’s definitely enough to feed her family for the next few months. She throws the net onto the deck, wiping her brow in satisfaction. Taking control of the helm, she spins the ship back to shore. Yes, she thinks. Today was a good day. But as the winds fill her sails and pull her home, she can’t ignore the voice that whispers to her from the deep.
Come to me, it says. Soft, sultry, seductive. Give yourself up to me, and I will grant you eyes. Come to me, White Sail. She doesn’t know how it knows her name. Perhaps the lonesome days at sea have fractured her mind. What else could it be but her own thoughts driving her crazy. She doesn’t know what else it could be. She doesn’t want to know. But the voice is always there for her when she’s out at sea, comforting her, caressing her, cradling her.
White Sail steps onto the pier in relief. Her husband runs up to her, pulling her into a tight embrace. She wraps her forelegs around him, leaning into the crook of his neck.
“I missed you,” he says. White Sail squeaks out an unintelligible response, hugging him closer. Her eyes stare off into the distance, seemingly at nothing in particular.
That night, she dreams. She dreams of a swirling vortex in the ocean, drawing everything into its gaping maw. The void consumes anything and everything. White Sail watches from her boat as a massive galleon is torn to shreds in the whirlpool; swallowed by that infinite abyss. Out of that black hole comes a voice—sweet and melodic, it is almost feminine in its tone. Like starlight on a summer night, it beckons to White Sail, almost teasing her to come closer. To just let go and fall in. And White Sail listens. What a wondrous world it is that the voice promises her! A world where she is queen above all; where the knowledge of the universe is hers, and she transcends all life and death.
White Sail turns her boat towards the whirlpool. She releases her grip on the helm, letting the currents carry her on to transcendence. All along, the voice keeps whispering honeyed words into her ears, bringing her ever closer to the mouth of the void. White Sail prays to the goddess of the deep, begging her to heed her words, to reward her fanatical devotion. She tears out her heart, her soul, her own mind , giving up her earthly eyes to her goddess. There’s a dark orchestra playing somewhere; she doesn’t know how she can hear it. She doesn’t know who plays it. But it fills her ears, the booming strings setting a gloomy ambience to her ascension. Her boat tips over the edge of the abyss, plunging down, and down, and down… In the depths, she can see a figure more radiant and beautiful than Celestia herself; and more cruel than the harshest light of the sun. The words of Kos are promising, and the heaven of which she speaks is tantalizingly beautiful, beyond all measure.
White Sail awakens in a cold sweat. There is no raging ocean now, no voices in her head; no goddesses from the depths of the ocean. It’s just her in her bedroom, alone with her thoughts. She turns to her husband, wrapping him in her soft, feathery wings. She is here with him; that is all that matters to her, she thinks, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. In his sleep, he pulls her into his arms, rhythmically stroking her mane. A single tear falls from her eye.
The next few weeks see calm waters and clear skies. The voice doesn’t come back until two months later, when clouds start gathering once more on the horizon . White Sail sits on the pier, staring out to sea. Her ears are pricked, and her wings shiver by her side. Her mind crawls with thoughts of unspeakable horrors; visions of gruesome creatures of the deep, chilling her down to the bone. Her mind is drawn to the madness, in some sick fascination for the damned, and she cannot help but gaze into it. And in her visions, she sees a looming pair of eyes—a manifestation of the abyss staring back into her soul. She jumps into her boat, frantically untying it from its post. She spins the wheel, pulling the sails as a powerful gust sweeps her out of the harbor. She barely gets a few miles out into the ocean before the clouds block out the sun. The powerful winds buffet her vessel. The cyclonic motion of the clouds, however, is nothing short of mesmerising, and even as the rains soak her skin and water stings her eyes, White Sail keeps glancing back up to the sky. She deftly guides her boat through sheets of rain, as the sea roils and swells under her. The sun streams down an opening in the clouds; as she approaches the hurricane’s eye, the voice speaks to her once more.
Come to me, my child, it says. I will show you life past this veil. Your mind is young, but I will lift you up. I will bring you life. There’s nothing White Sail can do anymore. All thoughts of resistance have vanished like dust on the wind; the voice pulls her in with its magnetic sweetness. Under the crashing waves, White Sail catches a glimpse of… something; it almost looks like a whale, but it’s far too massive to be one. A piercing sound fills her ears, and she screams, her vision going black.
When White Sail opens her eyes once more, she’s lying on the sandy beach. Her wings are splayed out to her sides, her back pressed into the ground. Minuscule grains of sand and pieces of seashell dig into her skin, stinging her sides. Her vision blurs momentarily as she swings herself around, her head spinning as she pushes herself to her feet.
Her village is just… gone. Oh, the buildings still stand; but their walls are bent and broken. The docks lie in scattered ruins, the boards splintered, torn apart like toothpicks. White Sail grimaces as she stumbles over something, gagging as she realizes that it’s a leg; and she can’t find the body it was attached to. She says a silent prayer for the ponies whose lives were washed away; they were once her friends, her family. Throughout the village, it’s the same scenes of devastation, over and over and over. Each body White Sail comes across breaks her heart into smaller and smaller pieces.
Her home is all but shattered, its roof blown away and its walls crumbling. She stands in front of its remnants, wondering if she should go in. Her husband is in there; she almost wants to go in, entertain that minute chance that he lives. But she feels it in her gut—he’s gone. She turns away, tears streaming down her face, and trudges out of the village. There’s nothing left here now; no dreams left to cling to, no life left to live.
The coastline is almost beautiful in its desolation; not a single thing remains to indicate that this place once held a thriving settlement. The boats that were once lined up at the edge of the waters? Destroyed. Washed away in the floodwaters like they were nothing more than twigs. In their place is a massive… thing, sprawled out over the sand. Tentatively, White Sail approaches it. Her head is silent now, but she feels a strange power emanating from this corpse. As she runs her hoof over the smooth flesh, she knows that this is—or was, now—the same being that spoke to her out in the deep. Her jaw moves soundlessly; how can this goddess lie dead on a beach? How can this happen? How? How? howhowhowhow
Something snaps.
She falls.
The world blurs.
Someone is coming.
A mare leans over her. Blonde, young, pretty. Why is she here? Who is she? Doesn’t she know not
White Sail smiles up at her. She closes her eyes once more, letting the dream take over.
She weeps.
