The water in Lovelie’s lungs flowed out. Violently full of life, Lovelie began to cough. Then, the woman wrapped a cold hand around my arm and snatched me below the surface. I counted as we descended. One. Two. The coming morning light hit the grotto. Three. Four. Five. It revealed the truth. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Not-Marie’s scales began to fade. Ten. Her fingers and toes separated. Eleven. Her hair darkened, curled, and coiled on her head. Twelve. Though her face had lengthened, she was unmistakably Marie. My sister. Thirteen. Fourteen. With daybreak her time was done and mine began.
