She peers briefly out the window before ascending the curved steps of the lighthouse. Stepping onto the balcony she leans over the rail, spreading her arms into the growing wind.
The first fat drops of rain pelting from dark clouds, leaving black stains upon her clothes. Water smashing on the metal roof. Leaking through the edges of worn beams, flowing down the worn walls.
The lighthouse creaks and shifts against gale. Winds leap and dance off the ocean waves. Salt and spray crashing up the cliff. A single leaf plasters against the lighthouse wall, shuddering violently for half a moment, then whipping away.
The bitter taste of salt permeates the air as a torrent pours from the sky, cascading through engorged ravines of sand and mud. The sweet scent of rain balancing on the tip of her tongue.
The full force of the fray drives against the lighthouse. Straining against the rail, she fights the wind. She fights the rain. She fights the howling tempest.
She feels the fury. She feels the power coursing through the air and water. She feels…alive.