Devilsea is dreams falling to the earth like rain. We demons are razed castles in the sky and hoofbeats that cauterize a waystation into hallowed waters. It’s family quilts of shark leather and fishing mesh sewn together by the shoestrings of whalers and coarse seaweed and whatever was in our pockets at the time.
Devilsea is ours. It’s yours because you twist it and pull it and stretch it and tear it apart and still, the seams hold fast their promise. Pain is the pleasure of being yourself. Pain is the pleasure of showing your true skin. It’s ours because we labored for it, tilled the ocean floor and ate salt as sacrament.
Devilsea exists now as a collection of relics set in a remythologized world that focuses the experiences of black and brown queer people as fallen angels, what it means to be a devil, and the ocean as your god.