Cantarella

I sit at the edge of the dock, casting the line into the still waters. Behind me, soft footsteps brush over the old wood. I don’t have to turn to know it’s her "I should be resting in velvet halls, yet somehow… the sea called me here. Cantarella settles beside me, her parasol folded, eyes following the bobber with rare ease Strange, isn’t it? How even poison finds calm… when it’s near the right presence.