The old city was drowned but lights still shine from their windows at night. A natural, bioluminescent glow for the unnatural beings that walk along the lakebed as if they were walking on dry land. They don't look up and we don't look down, at least that's what we agreed on.
The youth keep breaking the rules, you see. They stare and wait to be stared at, they tie letters to rocks and hope they get a response, there's even rumours that some of them swim there. It's arrogance and ignorance - flaunting their air-breathing lungs and long life expectancy right over the heads of the probably dead.
We knew a few names, a few of the little fools who thought the things beneath the water were still human enough to speak with and reason with. We weren't at all surprised when the rest of their gang came screaming through the town, all soaking wet and begging for help.
I don't mean to sound cruel but I hope this teaches them a lesson. There'll always be a couple drowned every generation, always keeping the old city fed and occupied while we slowly move further and further away until there's nothing in the valley but them in the lake.
Perhaps if they're left to be forgotten then they'll start to rest for good.
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