The fish people live in the sea. Obviously. Sometimes they come ashore, limbs flopping like wet seaweed, only with elbows and knees so somewhat more competently. And don't worry--they are quite good at holding their breath on land.

They come ashore, because it's easier to sew cloth in the absence of sea currents, or collect wood and stone for tools. The sea, after all, is a vast desert; what are the fish people going to build hammers, doors, or bed frames out of if not stone and reinforced wood? Mud from the sea floor? Sand? Coral, that grows mere fin-widths every year? The trees on land grow by several feet every year, using coral just doesn't make sense.

Most times, the fish people live in the sea (obviously). They've built cities deep beneath the surface, clustered around volcanic vents where they craft huge bubbles of hollow glass to live inside of.

The fish people live in the dark sea, and they get about by sight, yes, but also echolocation, taste, placing a fin to the seafloor and feeling for vibrations. They tether their houses to the mud with anchors and rope, and cover their see-through walls with midnight shades of paint

The fish people live in the sea. In a city of teardrops.

***

Meet Parro and Ange. Been in love for twelve years, thirteen if you're asking Parro, who crushed hard on Ange for a full school year before ever learning his name. Their second to last year of school, they went on one date. They went on another. Ange's parents disowned him. Parro's parents let them both live with them for the rest of school. For one year after school, Parro tried learning his mother's trade of rice fabric making, Ange tried helping Parro's father with growing trees.

After a year, Parro and Ange moved away from the surface and got an apartment near the volcanic city. They kept in touch with Parro's family, which was easy, since they ran a shop selling Parro's parents' clothes and heavy-wood furniture.

They took Parro's younger sister with them; she who couldn't handle the light of the night's moons for longer than a few minutes; she who tried learning their mother's craft too but didn't have the patience to tend plants nor the skill to weave rice straw; she whose right arm sometimes has a mind of its own and flaps about uncontrollably.

Her father never quite understood her, always said he was too busy with the wood business to learn the sign language to communicate with her. But that's okay, he still loves her, in his own way. He didn't, like, throw her out, so he must love her.

Parro, Ange, and Parro's sister live in the city of the Teardrops of the Volcano, on the outskirts, nearly the twilight zone instead of the midnight zone (they painted the glass walls of their house with dark gray paint). Parro's older sister and Ange take turns running stock from the surface to the shop, Parro's excellent with the customers.

Parro's sister keeps track of inventory. Accounts for inflation after the volcanoes flare up. Keeps notes on the prices, tracks month-by-month profits, has ideas for if the family business ever gets popular and they want to expand.

Parro's sister hates keeping inventory. It bores her to death. But what else is she going to do? She already failed at learning her mother and father's crafts, she'd die if she had to actually speak to the customers, if she gets too close to the surface, even at night, her eyes want to burn themselves from her skull.

So Parro's sister keeps inventory. Sleeps in the small bedroom in the glass teardrop home. Swims to and from the shop each morning and night, early most of the time, so her ear bones don't vibrate with Parro and Ange, madly in love for twelve years, chatting about breakfast and their weekend plans.

Parro's sister knows this is what they talk about, even though she can't quite hear; just pick up the vibrations.

Parro's sister who can't quite hear is why they live in the twilight zone, where the dim light casts everything murky gray save the odd bioluminescent angler fish, wandering up from the deep. Parro's sister can't hear properly, but she also can't stand any moonlight, but she needs some light, otherwise she's just as blind as everyone else plus also deaf.

But she knows Parro and Ange buzz about breakfast and weekend plans, because sometimes Parro signs to her that's what they're talking about and asks her about her weekend plans. Parro's sister knows, even though they don't sign to her every morning, that they stick to familiar topics. Breakfast. Weekend plans. When Wrass--Parro's older sister--will be coming with the next shipment from the surface.

You're probably feeling pretty bad for Parro's sister right now, aren't you? Feeling pity, maybe?

Haha.

That's why this story isn't Parro and Ange's story. Or their twelve years of mad love. Or their parents. Or Wrass, the sister. Or the teardrops.

This is Nudibranc's story.