The wave took hold, firm but gentle, pulling Domino deeper into dark, silent softness. For a moment, she thought of fighting—limbs reaching for light, lungs aching to protest—but her body knew something her mind didn’t yet remember: there was nothing here to fight.
When she broke the surface again, her breath came sharp, desperate, echoing strangely across water lit silver by a distant moon. The sound startled her—a stranger’s voice from her own lips, lonely, feral. In that instant, she understood: she was both lost sailor and lurking beast, calling out to herself across dark water, yearning for something she couldn’t name.
Then another shape appeared, gliding smoothly toward her on a gentle swell, phosphorescent like a memory. The glow shimmered green and serene beneath the soft gaze of stars, making her blink salt from her eyes.
A voice spoke from that radiant quiet, familiar and unafraid:
“Beautiful night for a drowning.”
Her chest tightened—not with fear, but recognition, a sudden ache, a heart softening. Domino turned to see clearly, outlined softly in moonlight, floating easily, impossibly beside her.
“Kurt?” she asked, quietly, the name slipping out like breath she’d been holding too long.
He just smiled, eyes pale but clear as ocean glass, steady with a tenderness that felt like music heard from another room—warm, resonant, always there.
“You’re not alone out here,” he said gently. “Not tonight.”
“Why you?” she whispered, the question gentle, puzzled, almost hopeful.
“Because Riley played Nirvana for you once. Because you remember the way his face looked when he told you music proved there was something bigger. Because grief opens strange doors.”
The name cracked something open deep inside her chest. Riley. Her twin. Her best friend. The one who vanished like the last note of a perfect song.
“I couldn’t keep him,” Domino admitted softly, her voice trembling like light on water.
“He didn’t need keeping,” Kurt said gently, his voice a tender murmur above the waves. “He needed someone to carry the rest of the song. Someone who could hold onto the music and let it become something new. That someone was always going to be you.”
Domino shook her head, tears mingling with ocean spray. “I don’t know how to carry anything. This grief—it’s so heavy.”
“Then don’t,” Kurt said, gesturing gently toward the open sea. “Let go.”
“Let go and drown?” she asked, her voice wavering.
“No,” he replied, eyes holding hers with gentle certainty. “Let go and float. Same action, different intention.”
Another wave passed softly beneath them, and Kurt turned toward the open horizon, where the stars stretched infinitely, reflected on calm water.
“Where are you going?” Domino asked, a sudden tightness rising again.
“Deeper out,” he said quietly, a smile playing gently at his lips. “The music’s clearer there.” He paused, looking back at her. “You coming?”
Domino hesitated just a breath, feeling the ache soften into something closer to music, something she could almost hum.
She nodded gently, feeling her body align softly with the pull of the sea. Together they moved forward, following currents of quiet sound, stars bright above them, waves whispering beneath—each stroke of her arms a small surrender, every breath a note held steady, carrying the music forward at last.
This story is part of the DLEIF transmission.