Finally, after what felt like hours, Arialla got her emotions under control. It wasn't that she felt better, really; she just couldn't, physically, cry anymore. She couldn't focus on her sorrow any longer; she just felt hollow.
Looking around, she realized now that she'd been observed -- one particular white-haired man had just turned on his heel and walked away, an action that she interpreted as expressing his disgust at her shameful display. And he was right to be disgusted; he had, presumably, been having a nice evening on the beautiful shore and she'd come along and spoiled it. Rubbing at her face, which burned with embarrassment as well as recent tears, she tried to imagine some way to rectify the situation now, if it wasn't too late. No, she'd just make more of a fool of herself if she tried.
Instead, she hauled herself to her feet and walked down to the shoreline, hoping she could find some semblance of the enjoyment she'd always had beach-combing at home. Finding a perfect flat stone, she picked it up and winged it across the ocean's surface. Her technique was perfect, well-honed: it skipped one, two, three -- eight times, before sinking into the endless blue. That even brought a smile to her face.
Now if only people had watched that, instead of her tears.
Looking around, she realized now that she'd been observed -- one particular white-haired man had just turned on his heel and walked away, an action that she interpreted as expressing his disgust at her shameful display. And he was right to be disgusted; he had, presumably, been having a nice evening on the beautiful shore and she'd come along and spoiled it. Rubbing at her face, which burned with embarrassment as well as recent tears, she tried to imagine some way to rectify the situation now, if it wasn't too late. No, she'd just make more of a fool of herself if she tried.
Instead, she hauled herself to her feet and walked down to the shoreline, hoping she could find some semblance of the enjoyment she'd always had beach-combing at home. Finding a perfect flat stone, she picked it up and winged it across the ocean's surface. Her technique was perfect, well-honed: it skipped one, two, three -- eight times, before sinking into the endless blue. That even brought a smile to her face.
Now if only people had watched that, instead of her tears.
