The scarlet blood moon hung high, pouring down its foul, viscous light. The sea's surface no longer reflected the moonlight, but greedily sucked in the crimson, transforming into a writhing, boiling patch of blood.
Each sluggish crest of the waves was clotted with a dark light like coagulated blood. As they rolled, they produced a thick, slick sound, like the slow squelching of an organism's innards.
Floating specks of scarlet light twisted and stretched across the pitch-black water, like pus leaking from the surface of a giant, decaying creature, or like the countless bloodshot, inhuman eyes of the drowned dead opening to silently spy upon the world.
The moonlight seemed to possess substance and malice, pressing down heavily on the sea. It used the scarlet, dead water as a medium to transmit the bone-chilling, indescribable whispers of some immense, unnamable thing writhing in the Deep Sea below.
