There is sea salt in his veins. It is all sorrow, and loss, and lungs too-heavy with sea foam. When distress grips his throat he speaks around bubbling crimson waves. The oceans in him ceaseless. They were not formed with mercy in mind.His waves are things of silver.
The blood of sirens flows in his veins. He is a child of the ocean. The waves were the wracking embrace of his mother, and roaring typhoon his father. A feathered thing born of sea foam.
He has lived in the waves so long, his heart has turned to pearl. He is wave-tossed, and worn. The scales of him are rasping the depths of his heart. He keeps the waves swallowed, lest his anger rip forth with the force of a tidal wave. My heart is seasick sway when I am away from the waves of his moss-green eyes.
— To love a son of the sea