Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Secret of the Seal skin ❯ Prologue: Secret of the Sealskin ( Prologue )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

The Secret of the Seal Skin

What would happen if an old myth, a fairytale often told by the fire, came true? After times full of misery Rowan returns to the Orkney Islands after the death
of her father, in hope to find peace for something she thinks she could not be forgiven for. In the end however, she finds quite something else in a mysterious man,
passionated by the sea, and by her?

DISCLAIMER: All the characters in this story are mine, and mine completly, meaning that I was the one who created them.
They are my property and cannot be used in other stories with my consent.

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Selkies are able to transform to human form by shedding their seal skins and can revert to seal form by putting their selkie skin back on.
Stories concerning selkies are generally romantic tragedies. Sometimes the human will not know that their lover is a selkie, and wakes to find them gone.
Other times the human will hide the selkie's skin, thus preventing them from returning to seal form.
A selkie can only make contact with one particular human for a short amount of time before they must return to the sea.
They are not able to make contact with that human again for seven years, unless the human is to steal their selkie's skin and hide it or burn it.
However, burning a selkie skin would mean sure death for the selkie.

- Cian, pro. KEE-an (ancient, enduring)
- Rowan, pro. ROH-wan (little red-head)

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Chapter one:
the Orkney islands

There is a legend, a ghost story often told in the pubs of the Orkney islands, that tells about the The white horse o' Clumly. It tells the tale of two men
fighting over the love of a fair maiden. Ihe never told either that she loved them, but they fought none the less. It is said that one man slayed the other, whom
he threw into the ocean. It is said that he mounted his white horse, to ask the hand of the fair maiden, but he never made it. Legend tells that the man's heart was
suddenly gripped by fear, fearing that the other man's ghost was haunting him, and he spurred his horse into a galop, fearing his own demise. He rode the horse down the road,
and forced the horse to jump over an old stone wall. The horse never made it, as it's hooves hit the wall, and fell down heavily. Both rider and horse were dead.

Ever since that night the tale goes that the man and his horse still haunt the road at night, jumping over the crumbled wall, which mysteriously enough could never
be repaired again. There still is a gaping hole in that wall, I've seen it myself.
Some people have claimed to see the white horse o' Clumly, but I don't really know what to think of it myself.

I always thought it was very romantic, in an odd sort of way. My father always told me old folklore stories, when I was little, and often when I was a teenager too.
I used to love them, but somehow never really enjoyed them as I did while I still lived on the Orkney Islands, together with my father near the sea. They lost their magic
as soon as they were told on the mainland. They were never important enough on the mainland, not like they were on the Islands.

I guess you could say my father and I had always been close. My mother met my father while she was on a trip with her class, and after one, hot, steamy night if
I must believe my mother since my father was rather timid, I was born. My mother returned to London, my father remained on the Orkney Islands, and I was always
in between. I lived both in London and on the Islands, although I eventually chose to live in the big city.
Not because I did not love the Islands, nor that the Islands did not love me, but I wanted to become more than the local barmaid. I wanted exitement, things to do and to
see. It broke my father's heart no doubt, that I looked more like my mother than him, in some ways.

I learned however, that in the end, that I looked more like my father than I could have ever imagine, but I never had to chance to tell him. I cannot say that the past
year has been an extremly good one. It was one full of disappointment, too much stress, and in august my father died.
It was quite a blow for me, as I said, my father and I had always been quite close. I had promised him too many times that I would come and visit him, but each
time I always called to say that I was busy, with work, or something else, some project. He always understood, he knew how important my carreer was for me. Was I
say.
After my father died I was definetly heartbroken. I was stressed at work, I couldn't concentrate, and I couldn't stop thinking about my father, lying in his bed all alone.
His farm was build far from the living world, as he had preferred, but in the end it proved fatal. There was no one to help him when he got a heartattack.
Perhaps he wanted it that way, I can imagine that he did. But I never got to say goodbye, and that hurts, it still does, although I've finally given it a place.
With a little help from the outside world.

Consumed by guilt and grieve, my boss eventually decided that I should be given a break. I objected of course, I did not want to appear weak, or imcapable,
but my boss was unforgiving, and I was sent to the one place I swore I would never visit again.
My boss send me straight back to the Orkney Islands, telling me to find peace with what had happened, and a well deserved vacation after three years of work.
I only went because he promised me I would keep my job when I returned, when did not matter.

I called the housekeeper on Orkney, telling him that I would come and stay for a while. I had expected cold words, but he seemed pleased, and happily awaited
my return. I was told that I had inherited the old farm, or what was left of it, and he hoped I would stay instead of returning to London eventually.
I didn't promise him anything, but the deal was done, I would take care of the farm for a little while. So I packed my things, and rode my Mercedes onto the road to
the Orkney Islands. To find love, peace, and a place to go home to.