Self Honour 

In the cold waters of the North Sea, selkies — seal‑folk — were said to shed their skins on moonlit nights and walk the shore as humans.
One night, a fisherman named Ian saw a group of selkies dancing on the sand. Among them was a woman whose beauty struck him like a wave. When she left her seal skin on a rock, Ian hid it. Without her skin, she could not return to the sea.
He approached her gently, telling her she was safe, that she could live with him, that he would care for her. With no way home, she followed him to his cottage. Over time, she bore him children. She was kind, but her eyes always drifted toward the horizon. She sang lullabies in a language of tides and longing.
Years passed. One day, while cleaning the cottage, their youngest child found a strange, smooth bundle hidden beneath the floorboards.
“Mother, what is this?”
Her heart stopped. It was her seal skin.
She held it to her chest, trembling. She loved her children — fiercely — but the sea called her with a pull older than memory. She kissed each child, tears falling like saltwater, and whispered blessings over them.
Then she walked into the waves.

Some say she returned every year to watch her children from the rocks. Others say she sang to them in storms. But she never returned to the land.
Her story became a whispered reminder in the islands:
You cannot keep someone by holding what they need to be themselves.