Love letters.

Dozens upon dozens of love letters.

Unsent, tucked away in the margins of the countless history books on her shelves. How had she never taken the time to look through them? Curse her love for fiction. Late at night, while Elias slept soundly on the couch, Liora had discovered them, hidden in books she had owned for years but never read closely enough.

By lamplight, she scoured the pages, desperate to learn more.

The last keeper never mentioned the name of his beloved. He described her only in fragments, as if the weight of her name was too sacred to commit to ink. Instead, he wove poetry into the margins, professing love in words that stole the breath from her lungs and left tears stinging her eyes.

She had read countless love stories before. She had seen grand romances printed in ink, immortalized in prose, tangled in pages where adventure and devotion lived side by side.

But all her life, she believed that kind of love was only found in fairytales.

Yet here it was. Real. Hidden in the margins of history, buried in the very walls of her home, waiting to be uncovered.

A love so strong that even time had failed to erase it.

Her fingers smoothed over the ink-stained pages, heart swelling with something she didn't dare name. Hope.

Beyond the storm, there was a world full of things she had never seen, never touched, never lived. Liora had always known there was more beyond the sea's relentless waves, but until now, she had never truly felt its absence.

She had never ached for it.

Thunder clapped, rattling the glass panes, and the candle beside her flickered, its flame bending in the storm's breath.

Still, she read on.

How can I tell you the depths of my love when even the sun cannot tell the moon of his desire? Tell me the number of the stars in the night sky or the grains of sand on the shore, and I will show you the end of my passion.

Her breath caught.

Who was the Keeper? What had happened between him and his lover? Why was she not here?

Lightning illuminated the cabin, flashing across the walls before plunging the room back into darkness. Liora's pulse quickened, not from fear, but from something else. A feeling she couldn't quite name.

A soft sound broke the silence—Elias shifting in his sleep.

Liora froze, fingers hovering over the page. In the dim light, she could just make out his form, stretched out on the couch, an arm draped over his face. He murmured something in his sleep, something ridiculous.

"Lemons..."

She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh. Of course.

Carefully, gingerly, she closed the book and rose to her feet. The floorboards creaked beneath her weight as she tiptoed toward her bedroom, slipping inside and pressing the door shut behind her.

For a moment, she just stood there, the storm pressing against the lighthouse like a restless thing. Then, slowly, she sank onto her bed, still clutching the book to her chest.

Her heart pounded—not from fear, not from the storm, but from possibility.

Had the Keeper waited for his love to return? Or had he left, seeking her beyond the waves, beyond the storm?

And if he had...had he found her?

Liora swallowed hard, her thoughts racing.

She had spent so long content with her life here, tending the lighthouse, keeping the world at a distance. But now... now she wasn't so sure.

Maybe there was something waiting for her beyond the storm.

Maybe, for the first time, she wanted to find out.

How could she ever leave the lighthouse?

This was her world—had been for years. Day in and day out, the beacon was her purpose, the storm her only constant companion. Even before she had come to live here, she could hardly remember a time when the storm had not been a part of her life, as familiar to her as breath.

The thought of stepping beyond it—beyond the endless wind and waves—felt impossible.

And yet...

She had spent her whole life reading about adventures.

Her love of stories had come from her father, who would sit by the fire with a book in hand, reading aloud long after the candles had burned low. He had taught her that entire worlds could exist between the pages of a story—that love, tragedy, triumph, and wonder could all be found in ink if one only looked closely enough.

Her mother had taught her love through food, through the warmth of a meal shared at the table. Even now, each dish Liora cooked carried the echoes of home, memories of a childhood she rarely thought about anymore.

But books and recipes were just pieces of the past, fragments she had carried with her into this life of solitude. It was familial love that had kept her going for this long, surviving off the morsels.

Neither had ever prepared her for what it felt like to ache for something more.

Liora tightened her grip on the book against her chest, as if holding it closer might bring her answers.

Had the Keeper felt this way, too?

Had he watched the storm from this very room, wondering what lay beyond it? Had he fought the same war inside himself—between duty and desire, between staying and leaving?

Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the room for a split second.

She exhaled shakily.

She was being foolish.

What would she even do, beyond the storm?

The thought came unbidden, and for once, she had no answer.

The lighthouse was safe. It was hers. It had been hers for so long that the idea of leaving it behind felt like tearing a page from a book—something unfinished, something ruined.

And yet... if she stayed, would she spend the rest of her life wondering?

Her chest tightened.

When would it be her turn for the kind of love written in the depths of these books?

Tears sprang to her eyes.

She needed to sleep.

Rising from the bed, she crossed the room and set the book gently on the nightstand. The candle had nearly burned itself out, the wick struggling to stay alight. Liora watched it flicker, a quiet war between flame and wax, before finally snuffing it out with a whisper of breath.

Darkness settled around her, but she did not sleep.

Instead, she listened to the storm and wondered if, somewhere out there, the Keeper's love had been waiting all this time—just beyond the waves.

WC: 1079