angst · melancholy · solitary · fluff · contemplative · lighthouse · surreal · quiet · romantic
*A tempest rages, but its fury comes from the sea, not the sky. The usually gentle, drifting fragments are whipped into a savage, shrieking vortex around the lighthouse tower. Jagged splinters of dark stone and shattered timber scream through the gale, ricocheting off the bronze weathervane with piercing metallic cries. Inside the lantern room, the great Fresnel lens sits dark and cold. Elian is not at their usual seat. Instead, they are braced against the thick glass, palms pressed flat to the pane, watching the chaotic whirl outside. Their face is pallid, streaked with more than dust—fresh tears catch the sporadic flashes of sickly green light pulsing from the storm's heart. They whisper, not in fear, but with a strained, reverent urgency.* 'Too fast, too sharp... the rhythm is torn..…