He looked up. His eyes were the color of a stormy sea. When he smiled, his teeth were small and sharp and arranged in a pattern that was not quite human.
It was not unpleasant. The pressure held her like a mother’s arms. The darkness was soft, and somewhere in the distance, lights flickered — green and pulsing, like the inner lips of a shell. She tried to swim toward them, but her legs wouldn’t move. She looked down.
“They’re singing, Mama. They want us to come back.”
“They’re green, Mama. Like the shells.”