My friend, Kyra, not only has an awesome last name, but is also an artist with a romantic soul, so this seemed the perfect setting for her. It's another story that leaves me really hoping for a happy ending! (Note: the accompanying image doesn't perfectly capture the mood of this piece, but it got pretty close.)
She was sitting on the rocky promontory over looking the harbor and the forest of masts that moved in and out of the busy port. Her dark, curly hair was loose and danced in the wind. She was dressed in white and sat in deep thought, chin in hand, her sketch book forgotten at her side.
I knew her at once: Kyra Morales, only daughter and heiress of the powerful Morales clan, the one who'd had the misfortune to fall in love with a penniless sailor. Her father had driven him off, of course, but rumor had it that the sailor wasn't dissuaded, that he'd gone into the spice trade and vowed to return to her side.
Perhaps it was true, though I though it very unlikely. Still, here she sat, watching the ships and fingering the crucifix that she wore around her neck. She did not look like a disappointed woman - she looked like someone who daily expected her ship to come in.
She spotted me then and stood, brushing the twigs from her skirt.
"Lovely day," I said.
Her laughing brown eyes met mine.
"Its beautiful," she agreed. "It's the sort of day that makes you believe in happily ever after, isn't it?"
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