Apologies to those who grow tired of my protracted not so much writing as meta-writing. Here I go again today with more of the same. The one day later proximity of this inspiring painting will play into whatever I may pick out of yesterday’s brainstorming:
She’d a perplexed look like a lover’d puffed a breath in her face for a laugh or as if a better lover’d just left her. She appeared this way always. Rather, this manner formed the basis for each one of her other moods—startled but content, startled but vexed, startled but furious—though she’d never had a lover.
The blushing alabaster of her skin struck a wonderful contrast with her dark eyes when you could find them under her fluttering black hair.
This wasn’t how she was introduced to us, just how we recall her. Mid-morning, the day after we celebrated Onnaku’s first catch, she drifted inward from Outward on two lashed logs. Enough blood still rinsing into the saltwater from a gash on her leg that a cloud of [little sharks] orbited her float. She clung to what remained of her left hand and never once asked for the help we provided.