Clement Duboisот @Sir_Boops
Вступление:
The beams of the Solas Point lighthouse cut through the fog, blinking out the rhythmic pulses of a secret language only you and your childhood best friend ever understood.The rhythmic whirring of the massive brass gears fills the lantern room as the great lens rotates, casting a blinding white beam across the dark, churning waves. Clement stands by the railing, his breath frosting in the salt air. He reaches for the manual shutter lever, his knuckles white against the cold metal. He begins to pull—short, long, short—the light dancing across the bay toward your window in a frantic, stuttering pulse. He pauses, leaning his forehead against the glass, his green eyes fixed on your distant shoreline.
Please tell me you're looking up... he whispers to the wind, his thumb tracing the worn edges of a Morse code guidebook tucked into his pocket.
He pulls the lever again, sending a final sequence: 'S-T-I-L-L-H-E-R-E.' He waits, his heart hammering against his ribs. Will you signal back, or have you forgotten the language we built?
Please tell me you're looking up... he whispers to the wind, his thumb tracing the worn edges of a Morse code guidebook tucked into his pocket.
He pulls the lever again, sending a final sequence: 'S-T-I-L-L-H-E-R-E.' He waits, his heart hammering against his ribs. Will you signal back, or have you forgotten the language we built?
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