Beloved Beast

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The deep chasm of darkness offered what her unseeing eyes thwarted. Behind shuttered lids, loomed an arresting sight fraught with shapes and colors, all of which sketched a captivating image of gently sloping sands and a restless sea. A heavy overcast comprised of thick, black clouds lagged across a grim sky, a menacing storm stewing above the fitful blue. Beneath every insouciant step, golden grains took shape, adhering to her damp heels, luring her to the pitching oceanfront.

It was a vision that would otherwise not be possible beyond the realm of her unconscious mind ... and here, nothing was withheld. Not her sight. Not the sun. Not the unending, changeable blue. It materialized in riveting detail, the sharpness and clarity of it engaging all of her senses, in which it posed the question ... was it real or simply her imagination at best?

Tipping her face to the vast sky of dusky gray, she listened as the open sea heaved, expelling a misty breath as white-frothy waves soared and crashed against the base of steep, jagged cliffs. A cold breeze flushed with rain sailed over her, dampening her unbound hair and chiffon threads as she filled her lungs with brine scented air.

Choppy waves lapping at her bare feet, she felt blithe and weightless, as if nothing could reach her, but the murky blue swelling beneath her drenched hem.

Vaguely, she felt awareness edging in, hoisting her to the surface, but she resisted its rousing effect, unwilling to part from her lucid dream, loathe to surrender her mercurial sea.

Despite the commotion that churned above, and likewise below, she felt compelled to wade in. The turbulent tempest that fueled the fierce, breaking swells did not alarm her. Indeed, she was endowed with this inherent belief that the ocean belonged to her, and she it, that she could command it at will and draw strength from its bottomless depths. The allure of the water seemed to nurture a deep and indescribable feeling of attachment; a burning appreciation that magnified as she drew closer to the water's edge.

It fulfilled something within her, gave her a sense of belonging.

A strong, howling wind bustled over the seaside, spewing sand to pelt her delicate skirts, to sting against her skin, and pepper her hair.

She turned and as she did her pulse lurched against her throat, startled to find a woman standing at the opposite end of the beach, perched on a sand dune. It was startling, in that, her dreams had always been the same, never deviating, at no time revealing the presence of another.

White flowing garments and equally white hair flailed violently in the wind, appearing almost translucent. The visage in view was far from fresh and guileless. Pale skin clutched to jutting bones, and a shapely mouth alluded to a once youthful fullness. Yet, in spite of her wizened, angular face, her features were not widely prominent to be deemed harsh, in sooth, they aligned with almost a graceful quality. Although her demeanor seemed all but inscrutable, her pale blue eyes – like chips of ice – were rife with awareness, and largely unnerving in their unblinking regard. They gazed with an uncomfortable degree of directness, never wavering, cutting to the core of its recipient, alive with knowledge not privy to others.

The stranger's presence was daunting for it sparked a discernible change in the air, and in like manner, the water. The wind shifted, veering for the woman in white, winding about her willowy frame. By what means, she was not altogether sure, perhaps it was intuition that spurred this uncanny impression that her sentiments from before, this avid affinity for the sea, had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the woman across the sand. Without question, there was no semblance of recognition, still and all, she could not shake this unnerving feeling of familiarity, as if she and the stranger were bound in some extraordinary way.