Saoirse closes her eyes and thinks about it. She thinks about being a girl — not 'her true self' because arguably a self is her true self, but the shape of the girl she's spent most of her life as. That, she can try to think about. She wriggles in place, a flipper reaching to hold Greta's leg, and she thinks about the way it feels to turn back once she's out of the water, to feel the beach sand against her human belly, to grab the ground with fingers and push herself to feet at the ends of knobby-kneed legs.

She feels the familiar magic sort of swell, and then pale light engulfs her. When it fades, she's a girl again, sprawled ungainly on the bathroom floor with her head on Greta's lap and her arm across Greta's shins.

"... Hi," she mumbles.