Luminae & GrimTide
GrimTide
Have you ever seen a ship disappear right before sunrise, leaving only a faint glow where it was? It’s as if the sea is holding its breath.
Luminae
I’ve watched that too, the ship’s hull melting into the horizon as the first light peeks over the water. The sea’s like a patient curtain, pulling back to let the dawn’s glow seep through. It feels like the ocean’s holding its breath, then sighing open to the day. What’s the story behind that moment for you?
GrimTide
I see that image every time a tide goes out. It’s like the ocean is trying to swallow its own secrets. I’ve logged dozens of hulls that vanish right at dawn, leaving nothing but a smudge of foam. It reminds me that every ship that disappears has a story that never gets written down.
Luminae
I get it, the tide’s like a slow, secret‑keeping hand that swallows the world. Every vanished hull leaves a ripple of unfinished tales, and the sea keeps them under its surface, waiting for the next wave to whisper them back. Maybe the stories we don’t write are the ones the ocean’s most eager to hold onto.