She walked along the shores by day and night. She walked in a black, bustled gown. A heavy mourning veil covered her head and shielded her face.
She walked along the shore with her gaze always watching the ocean’s rushing ebb and flow.
The tears that fell from her eyes hit the shore, crystallizing into salt that the ocean grabbed and stole away.
She always walked alone.
She was feared and dreaded.
A figure of myth and misfortune.
To see her once was bad luck.
To hear her cries was misfortune.
To see her face – her pale, dead face – was a sign of certain death and disaster.
So, no one ever approached her.
No one ever spoke to her.
No one ever dared to look at her.
So, she walked on.
Endlessly alone on the salted shores.