The salt-kissed air tasted like memory as Clara tightened the straps of her backpack, her boots crunching over gravel that scattered like shattered glass beneath the late afternoon sun. The lighthouse stood sentinel at the cliff’s edge, its white paint…
The first time she saw him, the sea was a bruise of gray, and the lighthouse beam cut through the storm like a blade. Mara stood at the edge of the cliff, her boots sinking into the mud as wind…
Clara stood at the edge of the cliff, her boots sinking into the damp sand as the wind tugged at her wool coat. The lighthouse loomed behind her, its beam slicing through the gray afternoon like a blade. She hadn’t…
The first time Clara saw the lighthouse, it was veiled in mist, its white stone silhouette blurred against the gray sky. She stood at the edge of the cliff, her boots sinking into the damp earth, as waves clawed at…
Mara kneaded the dough with hands that knew every rhythm of the kitchen, her fingers pressing into the warm, yeasty mass as if extracting secrets. The oven’s glow cast golden light across the bakery’s wooden counters, mingling with the scent…
The first time Clara saw him, he was crouched in the tide pools behind the old lighthouse, fingers trailing through the water like a conductor conducting a silent orchestra. The air smelled of brine and salt-crusted rocks, and the sun…
Clara stepped off the creaking ferry onto the dock, her boots sinking into the wet wood as the salt-laden breeze tugged at her sleeves. The town of Marrow’s End stretched before her, a cluster of weathered cottages huddled against the…
Clara’s fingers pressed into the dough, kneading until her palms burned. The bakery’s ovens hummed, filling the air with the scent of cinnamon and toasted almonds. She had always found comfort in the rhythm of it—the slap of flour, the…
The salt-kissed air tasted like memory as Clara stepped off the creaking dock, her boots sinking into the damp sand. The harbor smelled of brine and diesel, a scent that clung to her like a second skin. She hadn’t been…
Clara stepped off the creaking ferry, her boots sinking into the damp sand as the salt-laced wind tugged at her coat. The harbor smelled of brine and diesel, a scent that had once felt like home but now clung to…
The first time Clara saw the barn, she thought it was abandoned. But as she approached, the scent of fresh hay and gasoline drifted through the air, and the faint hum of a generator echoed from within. She’d driven three…
Clara’s brush moved in deliberate strokes, the bristles catching the slanting afternoon light as she mixed a new shade of blue. The studio smelled of linseed oil and aged wood, the air thick with the musk of pigment and the…