Thanks to the gods, Cecilia had restricted herself from thinking too deeply over things.
But it was frustratingly itchy.
If not for her husbands' constant presence, she truly wouldn't have survived.
The beach stretched out before them like a ribbon of gold sewn into the blue. The sand was warm beneath Cecilia's feet, the waves curling in lazy arcs that foamed white against the shore.
Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries distant, almost musical, and the sun was perfect, hanging low enough to warm without burning, casting long shadows that danced across the sand with each step.
Cecilia's dress was a soft, pale yellow, the fabric light as air, catching the breeze and billowing around her legs like the petals of some enormous flower.
The straps slipped off her shoulders constantly, and she let them, too lazy to fix them, too comfortable in the warmth and the quiet and the particular peace that came from being somewhere that no one knew her name.
