"Pleasant experiences make life delightful.
Painful experiences lead to growth.
Pleasant experiences make life delightful,
but they don’t lead to growth in themselves.
What leads to growth is painful experiences.
Suffering points up an area in you where you have not yet grown,
where you need to grow and be transformed and change.
If you knew how to use that suffering, oh, how you would grow."
—Tony de Mello
The Kingdom of Knox, Under Western Seas,
"Sylas you can't go up there. Those humans will kill you."
"I have to get Acel back, we've waited long enough."
"But you're—"
"There's always another heir."
Silas gripped the bottle of the potion he'd gotten from the Sea Witch, the
effects would take place the moment he consumed it. However the more
time he wasted arguing with his father, the less time he had to go up,
find his brother, bring him back home. That's all there was to it, right?
After all, it's been Acel who'd wanted to "taste" the life of mortality. But it wasn't all, he'd actually wanted freedom. No one could deny it
everyone knew that.
"Don't come after me dad, you have a kingdom to lead, I'll find him and bring him back."
The King sighed, shook his head, his hold on the trident tightened until his knuckles
blanched.
"I can trust you will, it's your idiot brother I'm worried about."
Sylas chuckled, bowed once more, "He will be heavily reprimanded for
such indiscretion."
"He's putting us all in danger, there'll be more than a mere reprimand,
I might even disown the bastard."
"Father, it's almost dawn."
After a long and hard stare, in deep contemplation he glanced up and
met Sylas' eyes. They were dark with a reluctant acceptance.
"Whatever happens, you better return to me alive."
Halfway to land. Sylas uncapped the bottle and downed the
potion in one go. The liquid sweet on his tongue, almost warm and
smooth. At first there was no sign of an effect. Then his stomach rumbled and squeezed. Bile surged up his throat.
I can't give up, not now.
He held it back. Pain tore through his head. A sudden heat course
through his veins and his chest tightened. His pulse rioted and for a moment
suspension. Then scales fell in chunks off the expanse of muscle where his tail used
to be. Muscle forming and reshaping, bones cracked and his tail jerked in an odd
motion. Frankly, the sight terrified him, worse than the sheer agony.
This is it, the change.
The once comforting and familiar waters seemed to overwhelm him. His eyes hurt
like the time when the Sting Ray punctured his side for messing with it. He'd learned
his lesson the hard way. It was like his senses had heightened in some ways while
others dulled.
The water engulfed, suffocating. Caught by the waves he swam.
Instead of the quick propulsion by the swift flick of his tail. Dual
limbs parted, similar in movement. Although lacked the full range of
motion he'd grown accustomed. With the last vestiges of his strength,
he pushed to break the surface.
Minutes. Hours. How could he tell? All was silent. Still.
Then the squalls of seagulls ripped through the air.
Sylas woke tail-less, sprawled on the sand. Hopeless. Lost.
Vision slightly unfocused it was enough to make out legs and feet.
New joints, strange forms, muscles he'd have to retrain.
"..." No sound. Oh, the Sea Witch mentioned he'd not only lose his tail,
but his voice as well.
Talk about strokes of misfortune.
The few people he'd come across shrieked and took off,
despite his efforts to communicate his misguided status. Sure he'd
gotten passed the first step: obtaining a means of transport about on land,
but the Sea Witch had left him entirely in the dark about human customs. How
foolish he'd been to think just popping up onto land was ever going to be
easy. She'd also said he'd need a human's life-energy if he were to walk
or speak on his own.
Pain throbbed his newly given legs, they collapsed every other step.
Where was the strength he'd built up over the years with his majestic tail?
Where was the confidence he'd worn like a robe?
He'd become less than helpful in this search, more like useless.
After trying and failing to get anyone to help him, he wondered near the
shoreline, wood left in a pile, it smelled incredibly acrid. But felt
soothing to his bare flesh. Palms out he inched closer to the source of such
warmth and hunched up his shoulders. Whatever this was it felt so good.
He reached out and immediately drew back his hand. Heat can warm the flesh but
burn as well.
He reveled in it. | 
Subject: poison & wine 
