Fynn squinted at the stormy horizon from the top of the old lighthouse. Only the occasional lightning strike would give her something to focus on. She absentmindedly spun the silver ring between her fingers. There had been better nights to spot Ellen's ship than by the flash of lightning. Not seeing her was probably for the best. She glanced at the white flame. They had lit it together the day they moved in, laughing and teasing. Fynn let her gaze wander over the black sea again with a smile, as she had done beyond living memory. For days and nights and weeks and months and years. Decades even? It didn't matter. She didn't need sleep. She didn't even need time anymore. All she needed was Ellen's embrace.

The storm eventually dispersed, letting the waves come to rest like a living mirror under the sunrise. The whole day was clear and bright. No waves. No clouds. No little ship with green sails. The sight was clear for miles. She could even see the faintest sign of the mainland in the north. Today was the day. Surely.

But it wasn't. Ellen never came. She never would. Instead of suppressing the doubt, as had become routine, Fynn let it wash over her. She saw the truth dead in the eye. It had been way too long. Ellen would never return. Fynn stared at the surrounding sea, her hope leaving with the migrating birds. If it had been as long as she suspected, she was the one who would have to find Ellen. She had always been the one looking for the next horizon, not like Fynn who remained behind. Hesitantly, Fynn loosened her grip on the anchor that had kept her in the lighthouse and left life.