Beneath a moonlit night

 Adeena's consciousness fades in and out as her eyes adjust to a sudden change in brightness. The glow of the moon and the salt in the breeze roll into the foyer, the book on her chest feels heavy and her back aches from having fallen asleep on the sofa. The front door is open.  Her joints creak and crack, a pain she's all too familiar with- The chitin has again overgrown whilst she dreamed of a life she never lived. She sits up and sets her grimoire aside, eyes focused on the open door. It's night outside. Moonlight bleeds out of the opening and through curtains, crashing waves reverberate just beyond.  She steps onto a pier at the other side, the only sign of their home's existence is the empty doorframe standing on its own behind her. She walks down the wooden pathway, her chitinous feet clacking quietly against the boards, and finally sits at the very end next to the grey-skinned man who took her in.   He's slumped over, his eyes are closed, yet he seems focused on something. With a soft squint, she sees it too: White silhouettes floating above the waves, dipping and weaving like surfers. It is then that she also notices other silhouettes at the beach, phantasms of people. His friends. Unlike hers, his dreams are those that truly were.  Adeena reaches out to touch his shoulder and notices another illusion: Her hand, no longer covered in brown chitin, but white. Delicate, polished, like a true-born changeling and not an accursed. It seems to mimic her movements, or is it the other way around?  "Did I give you enough love, Spore?"   Zerathur mumbles in his sleep in reaction to the hand on his shoulder. That was a name he'd never spoken of before, and a voice that wasn't hers responded:  "The day that you left, my mother and I knew it was for the best."  "Yet it never felt right."  As he responds, his dull blue eyes open and stare out into the dark ocean. The illusion breaks free from her, standing up and walking away. As she looks back, she sees the full figure of Zerathur's long-gone daughter; A pale changeling with long purple hair, simple grey clothes flowing in the sea breeze, a grand crown of chitin and iron grown from her very head.  Adeena loses grip on Zerathur's shoulder, and she quickly looks back at where he was, only to see the vestige of a lightless twirl of blue flames. He's warped away. She'll stay here for a few moments longer, watching the illusion of his friends lounging on the beach and surfing in the waves. And then, when they fade, she'll walk back into the empty doorframe and close the door behind her.