Ophelia pulled at the chewy tidbit between her teeth to win a bite-sized chunk, testing the sweet, jerky-like texture on her tongue. An expression of pleasant surprise enlivened her face. Her latest experiment – various dried fruits – was a splendid success.
She was on watch out amongst the rocks, ready to intercept any newcomers. A cold wind was blowing off the sea, and she sat in the misty spray with her arms wrapped around her legs, as good as another rock in the dark.
Cold and hard and black. Sometimes she felt like her soul was an extension of those rocks. Now and then she was known to give the lump beside her a knowing little pat, as if to say “Yes, cold hard thing. I know. You and me both.”
Leave it to her to be the one to decide the fruit of Paradise was too soft and…
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