She stands at the edge where land meets sea, a solitary figure against the vast gray horizon. The wind whips her coat around her legs and tugs at her hair, but she hardly notices. Her gaze is fixed on the distant line where leaden sky meets darker water, as if searching for something—or someone—beyond her reach.
The beach lies empty in both directions, footprints quickly erased by the tide's methodical advance and retreat. Even the gulls have abandoned this stretch of shore to the bitter cold. Only she remains, sentinel to nothing but her own thoughts.
Is she waiting? Perhaps. Her eyes scan the horizon with a practiced patience, as if this vigil is familiar. But there's something in the set of her shoulders that suggests futility—knowing no ship will appear, no figure will materialize along the shoreline.
Or is it regret that keeps her rooted here? The sea holds memories, after all. Whispered promises carried away on salt air, laughter now echoed only in the crash of waves against stone. Her fingers absently twist a ring no longer worn.
The light begins to fade, the short winter day surrendering to dusk. Still, she remains, communion with emptiness her only company, the vastness of the ocean a mirror to the hollow spaces within.