The water looked deep and inviting. She watched the stillness, her legs kicking in the mirror of the surface. She was a ghost floating above it.
From darkness, threads weaved up; a wicker basket of eels holding the lake bed hostage. As they moved, they tickled her reflection's toes, gaping open in concentric circles, forming a mouth that rose, swallowing water and devouring the sky and clouds and legs that had been lapping across the surface.
She stood. The sturdy wooden pier rocked, now unsteady on its feet. Backing away from the edge, she watched the as arms of the whirlpool reached out, reached for all that it could pull within its grasp.
It sliced through a strut, lurching the pier forward until it because a licking tongue, or a length of spaghetti, whipped into its mouth.
She flew, momentarily. High above the sucking sound; she was its eye, staring down a cone of waterwall, only touching its edges as she reached the base of its gullet.
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