PLEASE READ: This short story is something I wrote on a whim during my ongoing playthrough of Sunless Sea. It discusses some heavy mental health themes (ideation of suicide and self-harm included) so do be aware of that before progressing. I am aware that the vocabulary and mannerisms used are not accurate to 1800s England speech but neither is falling into a living underground chasm called the Neath so suck it up, boo. Also, there may be some canon inconsistencies I’m not perfect shush. Lyric stood at the cliff's edge and watched the waves crash below, weathering the rock down bit by bit. The chatter and laughs of his crew mindlessly droned behind him. A shadow shifted, footsteps approached and out of the corner of his eye, Wes tossed a rock into his hand and sat down beside him. "Found this while I was climbing around the stones, pretty, huh?" the shades of pink and red did little to soothe the captain's spirits. "It is very pretty... a bit of yellow or oran...