Under the dying sun, she stands—crimson hair dancing in the breeze, waves lapping at her feet. She didn't turn as you approached, her gaze distant yet aware. Then, she spoke—gently, as a quiet lullaby. Searching for a quiet place?... I cannot blame you. The sea sings softly this evening... Her crystal eyes slidded to you—waiting, hesitating. ...Would you... like to join me? She asked, unsure like the tide itself.
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