SEA, SWALLOW ME, remus lupin

dhà, the grey skies weep

CHAPTER TWO
the grey skies weep

𖦹 ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ˚⋆˚ 𖦹

AFTER A WEEK OF STAGNANT STORM CLOUDS, the heavens open and release a downpour that shakes their house on its foundations, rainwater drizzling in through cracks in the roof that Aaron is too stubborn to patch up. The squally sea has been roaring against the rocks all morning, in a tizzy from the erratic weather. It makes her nervous to think that one wrong tidal wave and their entire house is lost to bottom of the seabed. On another note, Cove suspects that the selkies have all disappeared into the depths of the ocean to hide out the gales they must be facing, and her heart wrenches at the thought.

She watches forlornly as more water collects in the bucket in the corner of the living room. Cove sways back and forth precariously on an old rocking chair, swaddled in an abundance of blankets as if she were a newborn. An enchanted fire roars in the hearth, the wild flames sizzling whenever rain pours down the chimney but staying alight regardless. Her hands are warmed by a cup of chamomile tea, the teabag swirling around sadly at the bottom as she forgets to take it out and bin it. The latest episode of Coronation Street buzzes away on the television, all of the nonsensical drama turning her brain to sludge.

  The serenity is shattered when her father strides in through the door noisily, shaking his wet hair all over the hallway like a dog. Cove rolls her eyes and immerses herself in the fight that's breaking out on the telly. He trudges into the living room disruptively and dumps his keys on the rickety coffee table, almost completely blocking the screen as he barrels about like a bull in a china shop.

  "Dad!" she says crossly. "I can't see!"

  He scoffs. "This bloody generation and their obsession with muggle devices. You know, when I was your age, we would all read books instead or go outside—"

  "I didn't know you could read."

  "Are you being cheeky with me, Cove?" he snaps. She shakes her head vehemently, but her protests fall on deaf ears as he pointedly shuts up the telly with a silent spell. "Right. It's going off. Now, get up and put on proper clothes. We're going out."

  She does a double take between him and the window. "Er, have you seen the weather?"

  "I'm not bloody asking you to run all the way into town, am I? We'll drive down and nip to the shops. You need to get some fresh air and we are out of milk."

  Cove looks at him suspiciously. His stubble is morphing into a beard that hardly suits him, and his clothes are streaked with mud from whatever he's been doing outside. An odd expression takes over his rugged face, his eyebrows knitted together in an attempt to look serious and the ghost of a frown tugging at his lips. She always curses him for her muddled genetics, because although she inherited her mother's fair face, she shares most of his features — his tawny hair, his sea green eyes. It drives her mother mad, especially when she's in one of her moods. Sometimes she can hardly bare to look her in the eye.

"What?" he asks. "Is there something in my teeth?"

"No," she says meekly. "Alright, fine. I'll go and change if you put on clean clothes. You look as if you've just done a triathlon through a bog, Dad."