@suresaint
A storm struck the island through the early summer night. A grey wash to the world only sparked with life from lightning illuminating the high peaks of waves crashing over the single track road running to the mainland. Watching from the kitchen door a cup of tea in hand, she’d enjoyed the ferocity of a storm since she was a babe. Sending her to sleep faster than any lap of soft waves or mother’s voice. If she’d not known any better she’d say a crack hit the road and left in its wake the silhouette of a person. Swept away under waves seconds later.
“Sûrement pas.”
Stepping out into the battering wind, a hand cupped over her eyes. Perhaps just the mark of how long it had been. Seven months since she’d gone back to town now for what she couldn’t grow or catch herself. Seven months since she’d seen a soul. The only exception the two cats that roam her halls, a fawn and a cream and grey tortoiseshell, Faye and Celeste. The latter sat waiting for her to return in the stone doorway.
Slipping across the cobblestones, skirts whipped tight in the wind and nearly blown over the railing as she descends to the beach. Expecting nothing, but called out by a wringing guilt in her gut. You couldn’t leave someone out there to die like this could you? Xiomara resolves to pace the beach and treat herself to a hot bath when she returns home. The sand a hard slog, soaking and sticking tight to leather boots.
Alas, her eyes were correct. A huddled figure thrown by the waves lies like driftwood down the beach. Knees nearly giving out from under her as she sprints as fast as she can. Skirts pulled up away from her legs, the sleeves of her shift plastered to her in the downpour. Murmuring to herself a silent beg as she rips across the sand against all the power of Zephyrus and his brothers. “Attendez. Attendez.” Coming to her knees by them, fingers to the woman’s throat, a pulse still shivering though her but an ear to her chest yielding no breath. Eyes turned down the blonde’s body it is with a gasp torn away in the gale that she catches sight of the leg crumpled beneath the woman. Unnaturally twisted. Placing the stranger gently on her back the siren begins to pound as hard as she can against the woman’s chest, palm over fist, hair in her eyes, the ties holding it long ripped away by the grasping fingers of the wind.
She’d barely been able to take note of the woman’s strange state of dress, too distressed by her presence at all, especially when so broken and battered. Halting her ministrations at the splutter of water forced from the lungs, forgetting herself near entirely and with the force of her relief, sweeping down to kiss her fierce and hard, a laugh of sweet joy “Madamoiselle! Est-ce que tu vas bien? Je dois mettre la jambe, Madamoiselle. Je suis vraiment désolée. S'il vous plaît ne pas bouger la jambe.” Every word nearly shouted over the din of the storm. Clear albeit quick. Xiomara taking the blonde’s arm over her shoulder and lifting her into her grasp, slowly and carefully walking her back to the chateau.
