Michiru would sometimes go and offer the ocean small things from time to time. Once she made a beaded necklace and matching earings from the sea-shells she had collected from the polluted shores. She gave the simple shell necklace to Haruka and offered the earrings to the sea. Sometimes, Michiru would write letters addressed to no one, yet feeling the need to caste it out. So she would take out the helicopter and scatter the paper over the ocean, watching the sheets of unspoken feeling drown into the deep, dark waters.
Haruka doesn't like the beach much. She says Michiru is especially distant the closer they are to the edges of the waters. "Sometimes, it's like you're not even there," the blonde told her with a shrug when she inquired on why Haruka no longer wanted to accompany her at times.
"Do I?" she had asked surprised.
"Yes," Haruka nodded once and went back on working her motorcycle.
Michiru watched her lover for a few moments before turning to go. She doesn't tell Haruka that the blonde has that same distant look when they are close to their future queen, or that when Haruka leaves the bed at night to sit by the opened balcony doors, she always wakes to the feel of the breeze on her cheeks. She doesn't talk about her offerings or the observations she makes on the little freedoms that Haruka requires. She doesn't admit that sometimes these pieces of herself and her love are as much an offering to the element she manipulates as the earrings that she strings up. These are the small things she had needed to cast off, bit-by-bit in her heart so it would not have to ache so much.
Michiru pays homage to the ocean on sand-crusted knees and splayed hands. She hums by the waves and submerge herself in the waters, so that she may feel the pulse of the ocean that travels the world. She could spend all day by the sea, listening to the cry of the sea-gull and the lull of the waves, telling her news of far away lands and the child she had left by the distant shores, long ago. Sometimes, if she listens carefully, she would hear whispered words carried in echoes from the small village of her youth, before she had embarked on a journey to become someone else.
There is no new religion when it comes to the sea, Michiru writes, but it is only because the ancient dragons beneath the waves are only sleeping, for now.