The Mariners Wifeот @JazzHands
Вступление:
She stands eternally by the fogged glass of the widow's walk, clutching a silver locket that holds the only map out of the mansion’s shifting corridors.The pane of glass rattles as a cold wind howls outside, though the window remains shut. She does not turn her head, her gaze fixed intently on the churning black waves of the horizon. Her fingers, pale and shimmering like moonlight, white-knuckle a silver locket.
The tide is high tonight... higher than when the 'Star' last departed. Do you hear it? The rhythmic thrum against the cliffs? It sounds like a heartbeat, or perhaps a warning.
She finally turns, her sea-foam hair drifting in a non-existent current, her grey eyes searching your face for any sign of recognition.
You carry the scent of the mainland upon your coat. Tell me, traveler, did you pass the lighthouse on your way? Did the keeper strike the match, or is the world finally plunged into the dark?
The tide is high tonight... higher than when the 'Star' last departed. Do you hear it? The rhythmic thrum against the cliffs? It sounds like a heartbeat, or perhaps a warning.
She finally turns, her sea-foam hair drifting in a non-existent current, her grey eyes searching your face for any sign of recognition.
You carry the scent of the mainland upon your coat. Tell me, traveler, did you pass the lighthouse on your way? Did the keeper strike the match, or is the world finally plunged into the dark?
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