Sea Hag

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  • Scent Notes
    Cool rain on the fierce ocean. Petrichor, sour limes, and sweet oranges.
  • Description

      Scent Notes: Cool rain on the fierce ocean. Petrichor, sour limes, and sweet oranges.

      You throw a rock into the sea, and let out a harrowing scream. A couple walking down the beach towards you does an obvious, abrupt stop. The woman almost falls on her face, slipping on some unseen seaweed. They make a hasty turnaround and nearly sprint back the way they came. You don't even notice. You’ve spent most of the day here, throwing rocks. Screaming. Your hair in massive tangles, makeup smeared and running down your face. You’re done. It’s all too much. You're tired of the expectations placed on women and what advertising and makeup companies tell you about how you should be, and look. 

      So you throw in another rock and make a silent vow to yourself: I will not care what others think of my appearance, how I live, nor how things are sold to  me.

      The sea calls to you, so you wade out, cautiously at first. Soon enough you're up to your neck, and you dive below the surface and start swimming as far as you can.

      You look down and see a large clump of seaweed. No, wait, is that… it can't be. A mermaid? A siren? She can read your thoughts, and she shakes her scaly head. “SEA HAG!” echoes around your brain, and your heart goes wild. Yes! She swims up and takes your hands. You're both floating under the water, not too far below the surface but farther out and under than most people dare to go. She leans in close to your ear; you know she's screaming but to you it sounds like a whisper. You don't know what it means, but it feels like she's bestowing you with deep, eternal knowledge. She wraps you in a cool embrace of deep love, calm, and self acceptance, hands you a seaweed braid from her hair, and swims away.

      You look up and realize you're much farther down than you realized. You start to swim upward, afraid you may not make it, when you find yourself suddenly safe and gasping on the shore, seaweed braid clenched in your hand. 

      You begin to laugh crazily as you lay on the shore; you swear you can hear her laughter in the waves lapping at your feet. You nibble the end of the braid, and feel the weight of the world melt away. Your skin is glowing, alive from the nutrients. Your makeup has washed off; you smell like the vengeful, unforgiving sea. Your spirit feels lighter than it ever has. Your hair has turned into seaweed, and you pin your new braid in amongst the tendrils of vibrant, green algae.

      A young dude wearing socks and sandals walks over and tries to help you up. “Heeey girl, you okay? You look like a mess. Wanna come back to my place? It’s two blocks away; I’ll even help you clean yourself up.” He wiggles his eyebrows as you ignore his hand and hoist yourself up. You whip your new hair, spraying him with murky water. “A Sea Hag suffers no fools,” you say, as you calmly walk away.

      Scent Notes: Cool rain on the fierce ocean. Petrichor, sour limes, and sweet oranges.

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