We Were Never Friends

Prologue

A mosaic on the bottom of the pool spells out Desert Sunrise in elegant, looping letters, distorted by the rippling interplay of underwater lights.

The letters shimmer like a mirage, illuminated by the pool lights, their glow a cold, artificial radiance.

Suspended below the surface is a figure, a slender form outlined in pale light.

Long strands of her hair fan out like seaweed, drifting lazily in the water, a grotesque echo of a mermaid at rest. Her face is obscured, tilted, but the stillness of her body, the unnatural angle of her limbs, leaves no doubt.

The water is calm, betraying no trace of struggle.

It cradles her in its silence, as though the pool itself conspires to keep her secret.

Above, the palm fronds whisper their indifferent song, shadows playing along the pink and navy tiles, the grandeur of another era now a backdrop for something chillingly timeless.

As the scene widens, a figure stands at the edge of the tiled deck, shrouded in darkness, outside the reach of the dim light.

It’s obvious their gaze is fixed on the pool, unmoving, as if mesmerized by the still, spectral presence below the surface.

As the breeze quickens and the palm trees sway in concert with some unseen rhythm, the figure melts into the shadows, leaving the pool to its haunted stillness, the words Desert Sunrise shimmering mockingly beneath the dead.