Of course, certain parts of that sentence, pulled from the most simple, mainstream of historical books, were wrong, washed out, hiding a truth oh-so sinister. Mostly about the downfall -- but no time for those useless pleas and guilt.
The very moment I was discharged, they had apparently forgotten that I was from the depths. Or did they? Did they take pity on a child so young and frail running around just to survive in the despairen area down below? Of course they did. Anyone with a heart would pity such a child. And thank god they did. I'd absolutely have died in a year or two otherwise, but instead, I was led out by one of the nurses, my claw on their hand.
A hand so smooth that was not mine, my claw already with a scar or two, the claw that'd be left to survive in a few decade's time, led towards a group of other children my age at the time, and out of the corner of my eye, was the same one who had led me here on stingray in the first place, being taken by someone who's robe patternings signified significant roles, a slow lead away from the other kids. Wondered what was up with her, what that could've been, why she couldn't be with the others.
And that nurse let my claw go, the same hand she led me with used to signal that I should join in. The others were quite normal, just like the nurses, some with fishy traits just like me, but not as many as I had. And for the first time in my life, and definetly not the last, I felt like I was being stared at by everyone.