“There's a self-portrait, her sister's face rendered in aqueous greens and blues. The shimmering surface of a pool, bright turrets of coral visible beneath. So she's familiar with the lush application of paint, the galaxies of color. But this? This is different. The painting is enormous, almost as big as the wall behind it. Her sister has painted two female figures, their backs turned on the viewer as they wade into a raging sea. The brushstrokes are frenzied, lavish, and Jess has done something to make their skin gleam, as if it's lifting from the canvas. Lucy feels sure that if she were to reach out and touch the girls' hair--- pale, like her own--- she would feel each whorl, each strand under her fingertips. Both girls are nude, their legs swallowed by furious splatters of paint. Blue green, purple, black, foamy white.” PaintingSistersColorsMermaidsOceanic Book:The Sirens Source: The Sirens
“The rash on her legs is peeling, coming off her in great pale strips, like the discarded skin of a snake. Below it, the flesh isn't pink and raw, or dotted with blood. Instead it glimmers, changing color with the light of the storm. Green then blue, then the pinkish white of mother-of-pearl. Iridescent as scales.” ScalesColorsMermaidSkinIridescent Book:The Sirens Source: The Sirens