There is an ocean in her heart.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that there are two oceans – one at the surface and another one deep, deep down. Physically, they are the same ocean, the same body of water.

But what you find in each ocean would be very, very different.

Near the surface, you would find sunshine beaming down on the beautiful people who rode their jet skis and their speedboats and their luxury yachts in pursuit of pure hedonism. You would find dolphins emerging from the sea in a scintillating spray. You would see fish swimming among seaweed forests, never thinking that they would be reunited on a conveyor belt in a restaurant. On the shore there would be families with small children squealing as the waves playfully batted at their sandcastles. And when the sun went down, the lovers would emerge for barefoot walks on the sand while the stars twinkled at their own reflections in the water.

You would not find any of this in the other ocean.

The other ocean is hidden deep, deep below. It is too deep for the sunlight to penetrate. It is a world of darkness. You could dive into the deeper ocean from the surface ocean, thinking that you were just exploring. You would not realise how deep you were going, how lost you could become. But there would be signs, and they would be strange and unreal and alluring.

First you would see the jellyfish. As their translucent bodies and trailing tentacles drifted past, you might notice patterns like numbers flashing brightly at you. 43.5. 4.14. 155. 2300. 4. 2. There’s no need to worry, these jellyfish don’t sting. But that doesn’t mean they’re harmless.

As you dive deeper, your enquiring gaze would be returned. It might even scare you a little, to realise that there were eyes looking at you. And they don’t look friendly – instead, they telegraph disapproval, scorn, annoyance. But then you realise that they aren’t moving positions. They’re stuck on the rocks like barnacles, mute and impotent except for the power you allocate to their gaze.

The gentle silence underwater is soon broken by a school of fish that swim past you, chattering furiously. They’re not conversing to each other, but neither are they talking to you. Rather, they’re talking AT you. Some of them are saying really nice things too, but you’re not sure if you heard them properly because sound gets distorted, this far underwater.

As you dive deeper, you begin to feel the heaviness of the water above you, pressing you down. Sound isn’t the only thing that gets distorted by the massive pressure at this level. There’s very little light now. You feel fear grip your insides. This is the point, you know, where divers before you have turned back. You don’t blame them, now that you have seen what they had to face. Do you turn back too, or keep exploring?

If you were to turn back, the story would have to end here, obviously. Curiosity gets the better of you, as it always did. So you keep going.

It would be churlish to say that there are no words to describe the horrors you see, this far down. There are always words. We just don’t like using them.

Everything down here is deformed, a twisted version of its original self. Buried so deep underwater, distorted by the pressure, if they wanted to survive they had to change, but not necessarily for the better.

The octopus-like creature that you identify as Neediness started out  as Companionship. It jets out towards you, a tangle of tentacles reaching out to engulf. You kick frantically to put some distance between yourself and the monster. The activity kicks up a cloud of Melancholy from the seabed, and as it rises into the water, it darkens and swells into a giant cloud of Depression. You know now that these are dangerous waters and you have to leave immediately, but then you spot something strange. I promised you something strange, and here it is. There is a cat. A black cat, with green eyes. Underwater.

Intrigued, you follow the cat into a cave. It’s not at all a normal cave – it is soft, and glowing slightly, and you begin to suspect that you have been lured into a trap. Then you see the source of the glow. It is a small box, glowing in pulses. Intuition tells you to approach the box. As soon as your intent becomes clear, the cat attacks.

It is no longer a cat. It is every creature that still lurks here, deep underwater in the ocean of her heart. They swirl around you, disorienting you. You have no weapons with which you can defend yourself. You need none.

The pulsing glow of the box is returned by the steady beating of your own heart. Nothing on Earth, above it, or under it could have prepared you for this moment. Nothing can explain why you did what you did, except that you heard a call and you answered it. You open your mouth to speak the words.

“I love you.”

The creatures’ fury dies down, and they slink away into the darkness. The box glows in pulses, quicker now. You open it.

There is a small glass heart sitting at the bottom of the box. Its multifaceted surface reflects the light in scintillations. But it is cold in your hand. No amount of rubbing or breathing on it can warm it up. There is a price that has to be paid.

You reach inside yourself and bring out a glass heart.