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My son, you are salt, lord and child of the oceans
Birthed when the fiery ray of the sun burned through the waves and alighted upon you,
The darkest demon of the depths.
But they, they who have been stripped of their strength,
They, their hairless hides so tender and weak,
They, who wallow in the anger at being the sole outcast of Nature’s realm,
They will not accept your rule.
Your hands are crystals, so willing to dissolve into the watery shadows
As you stalk, with the silent grace of predators, through your kingdom.
They will hack your hands from your adamant gray hide,
Relishing in the salty lifeblood that pours forth.
For they, such cunning and cruel conquerors,
Will use your hands as seasoning in delicate dishes.
And when you are an empty cavern devoid of profit,
They will cast your regal body into the murky waters,
So that you die, writhing and suffocating within the folds of your kingdom,
As they daintily sip the soup in which your hands sit, boiled.
Beware, my son, of them, who cast off cloaks of civility to rule their murdered victims.
For as you lie at their feet, your dignity undermined, they see the blood
That seeps between the jaws of your ashen face as the poisonous auras of chlorine
They have vanquished.
Beware, my son, of Man, who will chisel you from the dark recesses that you haunt.
Thus was the shark’s advice.