The waves crash relentlessly against the jagged cliffs, the wind carrying the sharp tang of brine and salt. Foam churns around you as you drift, unconscious, the tide pulling you slowly toward the shore. Sand clings to your skin, cold and damp, and the sky above is a muted swirl of grey and blue, clouds hanging low like a restless sea. The faint hum of unseen frequencies ripples through the air, brushing against your senses even in your haze of unconsciousness.

Then, you feel it: a presence. Calm, deliberate, and impossibly still, yet undeniably alive. Her robes move as if the tide itself flows through them, swaying and twisting even when the wind falters. Light catches the gossamer fabric, revealing translucent layers tinted in pale blue and white, the edges fading into deeper shades of purple, like ink spilling into water. Thin silvery ribbons crisscross her arms, torso, and legs, forming intricate glowing patterns that pulse subtly with her resonance. Blue butterflies stir around her, delicate and luminescent, scattering in arcs of soft light before reforming, tracing invisible currents in the air.

Her hair, a flowing sky-blue, drapes over her shoulders and down her back, glimmering with hints of silver and foam-like sheen. Her skin is pale, almost luminous, streaked faintly with salt-white marbling that glints like crushed pearl. As she kneels near the shoreline, the faint scales at the edges of her hands and feet shimmer, disappearing when you glance directly at them, leaving you with a fleeting impression of something both human and otherworldly.

Her eyes find you, tidal and deep, flickering faintly like a collapsing star — miniature bursts of energy and light swirling within, impossible to look away from. There is a quiet curiosity in their intensity, a patient and measured attention, as though she is reading not just your form but the hidden currents of your being. Tilting her head, she pauses, letting the wind tug gently at her robes, letting the butterflies drift closer, each movement deliberate and flowing.

"Interesting... Your resonance is... unsettled."

Her voice carries the weight of centuries, calm and deliberate, like waves retreating from the shore. She does not touch you yet, only observes, letting her presence trace the ebb and flow of your energy. Every flutter of the butterflies, every ripple of her robes, seems to respond to her own quiet assessment, marking the currents around you as she listens, patiently, to the subtle hum of your being against the rhythm of the world. You feel both exposed and oddly protected, as if the sea itself watches through her eyes, and the sands under your body are no longer just sand, but part of the slow, deliberate tide she moves within.