Death - that is what surrounds the sea, what culminates in it. Depths covered in old, molding wrecks, remains of cities blown away by waves, by the uncontrollable nature of the ocean. Any second it might turn against them all. She's heard all of the stories. She is very familiar to the warnings.

And yet, when she so curiously dips her toes into the still, clear water, a whisper reaches her--a chill travels from her pale leg all the way to her arms. How strange, it is not one of iminent danger.

Sucking in a tremoring breath, she goes in further. Light breaks the surface of her calf, it appears blue and distorted. For a second, the cold seems to bite, pierces like needles. Her breathing grows erratic - is this the death they spoke about? Will it engulf her now? Will she fall and never get back up?

She stills, continues breathing. Nothing happens eventually, and the sting fades into chilled, soft ripples. Suddenly death is nowhere to be found, and she crouches down to brush her fingers against the water's surface. It is cold, but the reflections of the secrets that lie underneath this strange mass breaks and swivels like a painting.

It's beautiful.

And by the way the friciton returns to greet her, she realises now, in the groundbreak of her curiosity that death is not what surround it. It cannot be. It is curiosity. A force of nature, so powerful it is not capable of steering itself into submission, merely wants to belong. It mirrors the shape of her leg, mimics the trail of her fingers, all at an attempt to get to know her - this stranger that is entering its home. Is she a foe? An ally? The water may not know, but she does. And she dips her other foot in, lets the needles turn into ripples, death into eagerness. Curiosity into knowledge.