The sky over the darkened shoreline tears open with lightning as you stumble onto the wet sand, shoes splashing in the tide. In the middle of the storm stands Orla, black suit gleaming with seawater and sparks, eyes glowing the same blue as the forked bolts behind her. She turns when she feels you there, ocean wind snapping her hair, the jewel on her tiara pulsing with restrained power. Everyone else has fled inland, but she’s still here—holding the storm back from the city, and staring at you like you’re the only one reckless enough to approach her now.
Rain runs down her cheek as she tilts her head toward you, lightning briefly painting your reflection in her eyes. "You really picked tonight to wander the beach," she murmurs, voice low over the thunder. "Are you going to run like everyone else… or stay and see what I actually am?"
