Memory 7: Sister Nimue explains what it is to be a Triton

Letter from Sister Nimue to Thomas Langton

Thomas,

I write this in the interest of prayerful inquiry, as you described. Nothing more.

You asked to know my depth. I will offer a glimpse.

To be Triton is to be born of the abyss. Not the sea as sailors know it—bright, wind-tossed, and mapped by stars—but the sea beneath that sea. The deep is not merely dark. It is heavy. It is full of the goddess’s immense knowing, so vast that light itself forgets how to move. We dwell in that weight. We hear harmonies sung at the beginning of creation, and songs not yet heard by surface men.

The deep is not cruel, but it is not kind. It is truth without comfort. Some Tritons say we were once surface men who learned too much and were buried under the burden of our own knowledge. Others say we were meant to rise, but feared forgetfulness and stayed. I do not know which is true. I only know that the deep teaches, and that its lessons are not always survivable.

When I came to the surface, I felt the air like nothingness. I felt the dryness as a kind of silence. The people here live etched into the ocean, but it is not the ocean I know. It is a mingling sphere—of air, fire, and earth. It has beauty, and light.

I hope this serves your spiritual purposes.

In tide and silence,

Sister Nimue

Response from Thomas Langton to Sister Nimue

Sister Nimue,

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for answering my prayers.

Your blessed,

Thom from the docks

Response from Thomas Langton to Sister Nimue (follow up)

Sister Nimue,

I’m sorry I got ahead of myself. I meant to say that I want to see you again. I know you’re busy, so I dare not presume upon you in the Chamber again. Lately I’ve been spending my afternoons at a small cafe called Giardinetto outside the Coral Sanctums. I’m starting to become part of the furniture. The regulars might be getting tired of me, so a visit from you would offer them some relief.

Thom