The waves roared. She closed her eyes and let the sound engulf her. The cold spray and gusting handfuls of sand stung her exposed skin and tore at her scant clothing and tangled hair. Her head was bowed and her arms were tightly clutched to her chest, but she slowly pulled them away and lifted her head. As she tentatively extended her arms outward, she gasped as new skin was pummeled by the onslaught of the tiny and fierce particles of the sea.
He was taken by a storm such as this. Taken and not given back. His ship had splintered on the reefs of some far off coastline in America referred to as the Graveyard of the Atlantic. But it was still the same ocean. All parts were connected by the constant movement of the same droplets of water.
She took a step closer to the frothy, roiling mass and stumbled precariously. Her eyes flew open as she struggled to regain her balance. There was no moon to help her sight. A wave slapped angrily at her bare feet and reached up to grab at her sodden dress. Her cold, stiff fingers searched to touch and clasp the simple silver locket that encircled her pale, swan-like neck. A token of his love for her. A shuddering sigh escaped her as she felt his presence. She had waited for the right storm. She had needed to feel him. She had known that only such a storm could carry his soul over the immense and unforgiving sea to her. Her tears mingled with the salty spray. As it should be. She was not afraid. Her love was here with her encased in the seething ocean. She could almost feel his hands holding her jagged and yearning heart. Pulling, beckoning. She stepped forward again. The first step was faltering, but her stride became progressively more determined. The waves slashed and pushed at her greedily. Their roar surrounded her senses and seemed to be shouting at her to make haste. They cruelly threatened to pull her lover further away unless she gave herself wholly. She acquiesced and was swallowed with the merest ripple in the churning, unsatisfied sea.