She was born in a summer of abundance —
when Oshún feasted on the juiciest spoils of the land.
Not in thunder or vengeance,
but with juice on her lips and laughter in her lungs.
Khalora never cared to shimmer or sing like the others.
She only craved one thing — lush, mouthwatering sweetness.
Her hunger became clear the day she stole a mango meant for Yamaya.
From that first bite, she knew:
this was what she’d been thirsting her whole life for.
When other merfolk tasted fruit she had bitten,
they went mad trying to bring her more.
That’s when she realized her power
wasn’t in shimmer or song —
it was in temptation.
One day, swimming through the canals near Venice,
she came upon a red door that pulled at her spirit.
Beside it sat a sun-warmed picnic table,
crumbs scattered, fruit half-bitten and gleaming in the light.
She couldn’t resist the pineapple — but left behind a single slice,
ripened with her hunger and silent longing.
The next day, it was gone.
In its place stood a hooman, arms full of guava, citrus, and golden apples.
When Khalora revealed herself, radiant and still,
they laid the offerings at her fins.
She never left that spot again.
Those who bring her sweetness are never the same —
for in return, she gifts them gold and gems from the Oshún Dynasea,
always just enough to help them thrive and provide.
Their lives are quietly transformed —
granted beauty, health, and long life
from the fruit she has bitten and ripened by her hunger.
Now she waits where grape vines sip from canal-fed water.
Not for gold. Not for praise.
Just fruit — Just fruit — the richer, the rarer, the better
To meet her is to taste magic.
To return is to want more.
