(no subject)
As she left the house, she could sense, in a way, that the sea shore was different on this particular day.
Although the rustling of the paopu trees, the crashing of the waves, and the serene, cerulean seas were the same as ever… There was something else.
A blot of nothingness against the sand. It was a sense of nothingness of which she knew not, of which she found to be dangerous at first moment’s notice. A wind, a strange, almost-violent wind, picks up. Her auburn hair is tempest-tossed, as if nature itself was giving her a warning to run, to escape to quieter places.
When the black-coated man emerges from the blot, she knew that she stood at the tipping point. The path behind her had already shattered, with her left standing to piece the road ahead together.