Oh, I can almost taste the salt on the canvas when I think about it—those fish are like liquid whispers, their scales shimmering like tiny mirrors that bend light into impossible colors. I imagine them drifting with the currents, their bodies curling in soft spirals, the tails flickering like brushstrokes. If I were to paint them, I’d let the colors bleed into each other, maybe add a faint glow so they look almost like living lanterns. A spell could be a ribbon of light that follows their path, turning the ordinary tide into a living painting. The idea makes my heart beat faster, even if my hands keep stalling.