Cerulean Cape the flung spray and the blown spume and the sea-gulls crying

'nother roll call post, ahoy! *fades into the mist*

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The closer she came to the briny atmosphere that promised her the saltwater she craved, the more pressing and turbulent the pouring weather became. Each sunrise was darker than the last, taking only three or four days before the skies lost all of its blue to the swarming grey of the inbound storm. Ixchel was not deterred. The rise of the hurricane, paired coincidentally with her approach towards the ocean, only served to insist that this was the best choice she could make. This was just something to overcome—to endure—and should she survive, she felt that her imminent suffering would be well-compensated for rising above the sea-trial she had deemed to be hers alone.

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