In a quiet coastal town, a mysterious journal is found, tucked between the pages of a random book. It belongs to an explorer who vanished a century ago while searching for a mythical island believed to grant immortality. The journal, filled with cry...
I was sitting on the short strip of beach that we found here on this island, hard black slabs instead of sand covering the whole area. My eyes were closed. But when I opened them, I found something. It was moving. Writhing. And when I tell you that my soul shivered upon this revelation, I do not lie. I do not lie.
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SERAPHINA WAS MILDLY SURPRISED WHEN MR. WHITMORE SAT DOWN NEXT TO HER.
He had dusted off his pants and cleared his throat before slumping down on the grass, their shoulders almost touching, though the distance was somewhat appropriate. He pretended not to be discomforted by the rough ground beneath and the snow that fell around them. The precipitation had wildly decreased over the past few days, except for a light snowfall that barely happened, maintaining the freezing cold their town was known for. Seraphina brought her hand up to her hair and dusted off the white flakes. We should probably go back inside. People will look, she thought.
In fact, they already were. Her house was open from the front. Of course, the walls provided a bit of privacy, but otherwise, people were free to stare inside, intrude on her personal business, and make baseless assumptions. Unfortunately, Seraphina had been prey to their rumors more than once, and now, she tended to ignore them altogether. The poor folk have nothing better to do, she told herself.
Mr. Whitmore cleared his throat, and she turned her attention back towards him, tilting her head. He didn't turn around. She saw his eyes rigidly fixed on the patch of flowers nearby, and that irked her. But then again, everything about him did.
"Do you believe me now, then?" she asked.
He kept his trap shut, but then shook his head. Her shoulders sagged, most certainly not because of him, but nevertheless, Seraphina did feel slightly disappointed.
"I...well, I can't argue with results, can I? It's unnatural, yes, but-I don't think you are lying, Miss Thorne."
"What do I do, then? I've tried so much to get rid of it, you know, but it's...it just doesn't go away."
"Give it to me." he said, without a second of hesitation, and she felt flabbergasted. Was this man out of his mind?
"You don't know what you're asking for." she laughed, hollow, the sound echoing around them, more of a tragedy than anything else. Arthur Whitmore did not answer, and she decided not to, either. Seraphina simply closed her eyes, the dark providing a comfort she did not dare to seek in the light. Normally, it scared her, the pitch black which seemed to nestle in her veins, the suffocating silence that would accompany it. Now, it was merely a nuisance. She still slept with a nightlight, of course, but she was not as scared of it as before. Not anymore. She felt a droplet of water run down her cheek, flakes slightly grazing her fair skin, caressing it in a beautifully fleeting touch, barely there, light, unacknowledgeable. She folded her legs and placed her hands in her lap. Her eyes were still closed.
