Monster
The moon, full and chalk-white, hangs low on the horizon. It is still early.
Her cloak ripples slightly in the breezes from the sea, and she shivers. The water will be cold now and she hopes the four layers she has on will be enough.
Although, she whispers to herself, it would not so terrible to lie down, become heavier and heavier until I am at the bottom.
It would not be so terrible, but she won’t let that happen.
The black sand is fine and soft and she is glad for it. Her feet make this two-hour walk every month and they are grateful for the reprieve from the stones and fallen branches that sometimes cut.
She is cursed, but she has hope that nobody will die tonight.