Maya was a creature of the water.
While the local children struggled, splashing and shivering in the chilly Korean waves, Maya would dive. She moved with a strange, inherent grace that defied the cumbersome physics of the ocean. She was silent, swift, and utterly at home in the deepest currents. The other villagers, watching from the docks of their small fishing community, didn't view her with admiration, but with an escalating, suspicious awe.
"It's unnatural," muttered Old Man Kim, pulling his net tighter. "She moves like a fish, but her skin is... foreign. The sea brought her, and the sea still claims her heart."
Maya ignored their whispers, diving once more into the cobalt depths. She felt no fear underwater, only freedom. It was the only place where the weight of her forgotten past seemed to lift. But as she surfaced, taking a deep, ragged breath, she saw the wary, suspicious faces staring back.
She was loved by the humble couple who took her in, but to the rest of the village, she remained a beautiful, living anomaly—a constant, unsettling question mark in their quiet world.