Her hooded cloak of ruby satin drapes itself around her sumptuous, high gloss, floor length hair. Her mane, which lusters darkly, glows a Devil’s Food, red velvet color.
The smoky blue, star speckled morning is flushing purple. A sea of wind rattles thousands of leaves and sends the smell of sweet grass to her.
A golden forked tongue weaves itself around the mermaid’s left arm; This sinuous metalwork is her Infinity Bracelet.
The bracelet is a long, jeweled talisman that makes her immortal so long as she is a daughter of the sea.
But here she is, a mortal with an otherworldly aura. She can die now; that is something she could never have done before.
Her diadem glints with two strawberry snake eyes: large rubies. An ornate tattoo of a venomous cobra roils up her left leg, continuing the theme of reptilian beauty.
It’s no coincidence. The serpentine signifiers are supposed to be reminders of whom she owes–or owed, now that she is mortal–her divinity to.
It’s the work of Delysia, a serpent goddess and daughter of Medusa.
Poison Water takes off her hood to inspect the atlas of the early morning sky. Her devilish best friend, Atlas Mercurial, has grafted a map into the stars for her journey. The clouds are blocking it, though.
“Unreliable god,” Poison Water says, annoyed.
“I heard that,” says Atlas, materializing from starlight.
Atlas has backlit violet eyes; they’re glass beads with strains of silver in them. They sparkle with amusement.
“I did my best, P. It’s not my fault that eons ago, Delysia mistook your father for a bathing faerie naiad; or that said lesbian goddess gave said father an Infinite Kiss, making said father into a gorgeous, male immortal and breaking said delusional goddess’s heart, spurning her forever and ever–”
“Are you done Atlas?”
“Honestly, no, P. You’re by far the most interesting mortal I’ve met in centuries, and your family tree is all sorts of fooked up!”
“It’s true! You’re an endless fascination! Half mermaid, half snake deity; but now, all human! It’s like a telenovela. Ooh, next you should do something kinky.”
Poison Water smiles in spite of herself. She loves Atlas. He is ravishing to behold; he is a poet and a reveler; he is a wise mystic; and he’s an idiot.
His soft pink curls frame his heavenly face in sugary wisps. It’s perverse.
He looks like a cherub, but he’s a demon, she thinks. A demon who thinks he’s freakin sex pot.
“Are you going to help me or not, Atlas?”
“Of course, I’ll help. It won’t be easy though. And there’s the whole you can die now thing too, you know.”
“Uh huh. Something helpful. Can you say something helpful?”
“How about we go see Ptolemy, the Seer?”