Moonstone Quarry velvety and caressing

Fleur stepped closer, her gaze tracing the contours of the woman’s face—what little she could see—committing it to memory in the quiet hope that one day, a name might accompany it. For now, she simply listened, letting the woman’s words settle over them both like a gentle tide.

The sun-kissed girl shivered.

The Quarry was, and still is, a place of breathtaking beauty—vast and silent, yet welcoming in its stillness. The moonlit woman spoke of it as though it were alive, a being that breathed through the wind that swept gently around them. Perhaps it was. Perhaps the breeze that stirred their fur was its breath, carrying with it the whispers of those who came before, and the dreams of those yet to arrive. Perhaps truths—or secrets—were etched into the very stone, waiting for those brave enough to seek them.

Perhaps it does. And if it keeps, surely it must also share what knowledge it holds? There was a fragile hope in her thoughts then. She would give anything to uncover who she was, and why she stood in this place. What had happened before the sea swept away her memories?

I am Fleur. What should I call you? She did not know many names of those who call this place home. Solharr and Ezra are the only two who she could recall, the others are by sight alone. 

The lost girl wanted to collect names like they were seashells, hoping that one at the very least would want to collect her in return; she was tired of drifting back out to that wretched sea with nothing to ground her. 

The winds stirred, brushing her cheek gently as if to say her wishes were heard, and maybe—some day—they would be answered.