Harper sat on the soft sand of the beach, her toes sinking into the fine grains like a gentle embrace. The sun, a warm golden orb, painted her skin with a delicate glow. Around her, the world blurred—the waves, the seagulls, the distant laughter—all merging into a canvas of inspiration. This was rare for her. This kind of serene quiet.

Her sketchbook, slightly worn at the edges, lay open before her. Its pages held the promise of creation, each blank sheet inviting her pencil to dance. She traced her fingers over the graphite smudges—the remnants of past sketches. Each mark told a story—a seagull in flight, a sun-kissed horizon, a familiar face emerging from the void.

If only.

The scent of salt and seaweed hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of sunscreen. Perhaps she’d put on a bit too much, but the last thing she wanted right before school began was a massive sunburn. Besides, it was a fragrance she associated with freedom—the kind that came from being lost in lines and shadows instead of fear and regret.

Harper glanced toward a distant sailboat, its white canvas billowing against the azure backdrop. Where was it headed? What adventures awaited its crew? She wondered if her sketch could capture that sense of wanderlust—the longing for uncharted waters and distant shores. Perhaps…another time, she thought, her focus returning to the sketch in progress in front of her.

Yet still, she found herself once again distracted. Seagulls wheeled overhead, their cries both raucous and melodic. Their wings dipped and soared, tracing invisible patterns against the sky. Harper imagined their conversations—the secrets they shared as they rode the wind. Perhaps they spoke of forgotten shipwrecks or whispered tales of lost sailors. Or a winged girl. That particular thought brought a smile to her face.

Focus.

Her eyes glued themselves back to the pages of the sketchbook. They were slightly curled, and as she resumed her sketching, the world narrowed between their borders to the character before her—a fierce, vulnerable protagonist. The lines blurred—their stories intertwined.

Art was a sanctuary she’d thankfully picked up after everything had changed. It often pulled her into a place where time lost its grip on her mind. The crashing waves seemed to fade away, leaving only Harper and the character she was bringing to life. Here, she explored the depths of her soul without fear or judgment. With each mark on the paper, she unburdened herself—releasing troubles, fears, and memories.

The Protagonist- yet to be named after many depictions.



Her eyes held the weight of worlds—the kind of gaze that saw through illusions and touched the core of existence. In the graphite lines, Harper captured her essence—a blend of strength and vulnerability, determination, and quiet longing.

1. Eyes: The character’s eyes were always the focal point of the piece. It was the part of a person that Harper knew best. They weren’t merely drawn either; they were etched—a continuous dialogue between artist and paper. Within those irises, secrets swirled—a map of scars, dreams, and broken promises. Harper hesitated as she shaded the corners, where shadows hinted at untold stories. Were they always that distant?

2. Expression: The protagonist’s lips curved—a half-smile, a hint of defiance. She wasn’t a damsel awaiting rescue; she was the architect of her fate. Her jawline bore the memory of battles fought—against both external foes and inner demons. Harper wondered if her own jaw clenched in the same way during sleepless nights.

3. Hair: The wind played with her hair—a wild cascade of ink strokes. It framed her face, a curtain shielding vulnerability. Harper imagined the saltwater tang in those strands—the sea woven into her very being. Perhaps the character, too, sought solace in the waves and whispered her secrets to the tides. Wait no, you’re supposed to be done with that.

4. Posture: The protagonist sits on an invisible shore, legs crossed, spine straight. Her shoulders carried burdens—responsibilities, regrets, unspoken farewells. Harper’s pencil traced the curve of her back, the hollows where wings might sprout. Was she anchored or yearning for flight?

5. Clothing: The character wore simplicity—a loose dress, with her back exposed as if to say, “I fear nothing”. If only.

6. Hands: The hands—oh, the hands! Harper lingered here. They weren’t mere appendages; they were conduits. One hand rested on her knee—the weight of existence. The other could not be seen—an unbreakable connection to something beyond the page, perhaps? Was it hope? Regret? Love?

7. Background: The sea, always the sea. Harper’s pencil blurred the horizon, merging character and ocean. The waves whispered to her—of beginnings and endings, of cyclical tides. Harper wondered if the character yearned for distant shores or found solace in the familiar like her.

8. Vulnerability: Beneath the ink, vulnerability seeped. The character’s chest rose unseen with each breath—a fragile equilibrium. Harper’s own heartbeat appeared to echo in the lines—the rhythm of creation, the pulse of shared existence.

And so, as Harper shaded the final contours, she knew she’d birthed more than a sketch. She’d conjured a mirror—a reflection of her battles, her longing. The character stared back as if saying, “We’re both stories waiting to unfold, aren’t we?”

See, we’re not so different after all, Sisi.

---

A sharp frown etched its way across Harper’s lips, slicing through the tranquil bubble she’d woven around herself. The laughter—the raucous, heedless kind—finally reached her ears, jolting her back to the present. Of course, it never lasted, did it? But surely…surely, they couldn’t be doing that?

Reaching over to her side, Harper’s hand found the megaphone lying there. Its plastic surface was cool against her palm, a stark contrast to the heat simmering within her. She lifted it, the weight familiar—a tool of authority, a conduit for her voice. The character she’d sketched earlier seemed to watch from the paper, eyes questioning. And then, with a clearing of her throat, Harper shouted into the megaphone, her words amplified by the salt-laden breeze:

“No littering, maggots!”

The laughter faltered, replaced by startled glances. The young and obviously new faces froze—a tableau of guilt and surprise. Harper’s frown deepened. She wasn’t a stickler for rules—okay, who was she kidding, yes, she was—but this was her sanctuary—the private cove meant for Pacific Royal’s students and faculty. Not some uninitiated miscreants. The pristine sands deserved respect, not discarded wrappers, and carelessly tossed cans.

With the megaphone still warm from her grip, Harper watched as those caught in the shameful act—the litterers—scrambled like startled crabs. Their laughter dissolved into nervous glances, and they hurriedly picked up their discarded wrappers and half-empty soda cans. Some muttered apologies, while others shot Harper resentful glares. They hadn’t expected a sentinel on this private beach, and her shout had shattered their carefree bubble. One even muttered, “Who the hell made her the beach police?” to which Harper responded, “I heard that!”

^{TW: Domestic Violence}

Sometimes when Aurora closed her eyes, she was brought back here.

Back to the small ranch house at the end of a cul-de-sac, with its beige stucco exterior and red clay tile roofing. She could feel the bite of the cool metal of the doorknob as she turned it, a stark contrast to the dry desert heat that flushed her skin. The redhead could picture every detail in that house, the one that she used to call home, so vividly. Things like the wood grain pattern of the walnut cabinets in the kitchen and the exact shade of the taupe tiled floor. As she walked inside, she was greeted by the scent of her mother’s perfume - peony and rose. The smell invited her in; told her to stay a while, say hello, even.

But the sound of the front door opening and closing did the opposite, igniting a panic that quickly took over her body. Within seconds, her feet moved almost of their own accord to what was once her childhood bedroom; she was a girl retracing hurried steps she knew well. Bland blue walls with glow-in-the-dark stars haphazardly pasted to the ceiling awaited her. Aurora closed the door behind her, locked it and waited, dreading what she knew was coming.

First was the yelling. A male voice - rough and cold - and a woman’s voice - petrified and breaking. The redhead couldn’t make out any distinct words, every consonant and vowel seemed to meld together into a cacophony of sound. Next was the slamming of doors, the shattering of glass, the echo of skin hitting skin. As the shouting continued into a crescendo, Aurora’s clammy hands found her hot ears to try and block out any of the noise. It was loud, too loud. Too much.

Footsteps grew heavier, the vibrations radiating through the house, growing closer. The sheer terror in the woman’s voice was palpable as the handle of the bedroom door started to jiggle, but Aurora remained frozen, trapped in the suffocating grip of fear. Hot, silent tears pricked at her eyes.

And then in the doorway stood a figure, outlined by the harsh glare of the hallway light. His silhouette was imposing, casting a long shadow that seemed to swallow the room whole. Aurora's breath caught in her throat. She could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy with anger and resentment, boring into her soul.

With a trembling hand, the redhead reached out, grasping for something, anything to anchor her back to reality. But there was only emptiness, a void that threatened to consume her whole and -

______________________________

Aurora’s eyes shot open, her mouth dry and chest heaving as she frantically attempted to acclimate to her surroundings. Light crept in through billowy white curtains, illuminating her plants and the pictures propped on her desk. Loosening her vice-like grip on her duvet, she inhaled deeply and exhaled, attempting to calm and slow her pounding heartbeat.

She was in her dorm. She was safe. It wasn’t real.

That had been the redhead’s third nightmare of the week. At least she had managed to sleep through the night this time.

It happened every summer; the still emptiness of campus triggered something in Aurora’s brain that had every fear of hers crawling back to the surface. She knew in her heart that come fall everyone would return, but the little voice in the back of her head told her that they were gone for good, and this was just a continuation of the vicious cycle that was her reality. But today, her heart would win the battle with her mind, as students came back to campus for the new school year; her last year at Pacific Royal Collegiate & University.

The redhead found her footing and climbed out of bed, shuffling to the bathroom to wash the now sticky sheen of sweat from her skin. She stayed there for a while under the spray of the shower, letting the scalding water cleanse both her body and mind. She spent some time mentally preparing herself for the day ahead - it was going to be a long one, especially given that she was not well rested.

It wasn’t until the water began to run cold that she turned off the shower and started to get ready. Aurora had promised Harper that she’d meet her down at the beach, which was an annual tradition for the weekend prior to the start of classes. Everyone would be there, most having returned from their summer adventures, both good and bad. And as much as the redhead would love nothing more than to attempt to go back to sleep, a promise was a promise and she always kept her word.

Aurora was never one to wear a lot of makeup - maybe some blush across her cheeks and nose and some mascara to highlight her baby blues - but one step she never skipped was applying concealer to cover the bags that seemed to have purchased permanent real estate underneath her eyes. No one needed to be privy to her sleeping habits… well, no one else. Lorcán, Banjo, and Haven were plenty, as it was.

Some odd minutes later after drying her hair and getting dressed, Aurora locked her dorm behind her and began to make her way towards the beach on foot. She didn’t always feel the urge or see a reason to teleport everywhere. Sure, it was faster and more efficient than walking, but today she wanted to witness PRCU come alive again for herself. She needed to see it. So as she walked, she intently listened to the chatter and excitement of new and returning students who had already arrived back on campus. Some were swapping stories of their summers spent with family or traveling abroad, while others asked questions such as where the Intake House was or how they could get to the Administration Building. As Aurora overheard each conversation, her heart grew warm and her anxieties melted away. Things were as they should be.

Once the paved pathway met the beach, the redhead immediately slipped off her sandals, letting her toes dig into the sand. Out of instinct, her whole body relaxed as she smelled the salty air and heard the gulls fly overhead. There was something grounding about the water and the waves that she could never put her finger on. She wasn’t a strong swimmer, she didn’t even learn how to swim until she got to Dundas Island and was forced to learn for her own safety, but nonetheless, the surf hitting the shore triggered the quiet in her mind she so desperately craved.

Looking around, she searched for Harper but also watched as her classmates enjoyed the beautiful day. Some students simply sunbathed, others were playing football or volleyball, even some had ventured into the water. The unbridled joy and happiness was a sight to behold after a quiet summer on the island. It brought a genuine smile to the redhead’s face.

“No littering, maggots!”

Well, there was Harper. Yelling at some new students who had chosen to abandon their trash unceremoniously on the beach. Seemed very fitting for the brunette to be laying down the law - after all, it was common knowledge that she had an affinity for structure and the rules.

Aurora waved to her friend as she closed the distance between them, sitting down underneath an adjacent umbrella and tucking herself into the pocket of shade that it provided. Thus was the curse of being a fair-skinned redhead - unless she was actively trying to look like a tomato, direct sunlight was not advised. As she got comfortable, she removed her cover-up, revealing a two-piece bathing suit underneath - rest assured, she had thoroughly applied SPF 100 before leaving her room and brought extra to spare.

“Remind me later not to litter in your presence... where did you even get that thing?” Aurora asked with a laugh, setting down her bag and fishing out the book she had brought to read. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the sketchbook that lay open on what she assumed was a recently completed drawing. Peering over at her friend’s creation, she beamed. “Oh Harper, this is beautiful." She commented, not aiming to be nosy, but genuinely impressed by her friend's skill and wanting to compliment her like she deserved to be. “You are so talented - I can only hope that you’ll draw a picture of me one day.”

_{Interaction(s): @Lord Wraith, Lorcán // @Qia, Harper // @Melissa, Aurora}
He sighed, and shoved the phone into the pocket of his trunks. He scanned the coastline again, looking for a new distraction, and spotted Lorcán on his board paddling in to shore. Gil smiled and called out, waving his hand to grab his attention.
"For someone who has been on a board since he could walk, you wouldn't know it!”

"The waves are gnarly my dude, guess the water just isn't my element today." Lorcán smirked as he spotted Gil and trekked across the sand toward him, board under one arm and seawater rising off him as steam. You'd be forgiven for thinking the sun was working some overtime if you didn't know Lorcán, or indeed the common reason anyone here was on this particular beach, rather than some other stretch of west-coast shoreline. Lorcán stuck his board upright in the sand with a forceful stab, and sat down next to Gil to join in with his people-watching.
“Are you looking forward to putting together the Homecoming Trial for this year’s freshmen? It’s tradition for the graduating class to work together creating a new obstacle course. With any luck, maybe the Chancellor will let us run the course before the new class.”

Gil chuckled softly and maintained a friendly smile as he replied.
“I find I’m more equipped for emotional labour compared to physical, but you know what they say - many hands make light work. You hear a lot of good sayings in the industry, but that one particularly seems to follow me…”
Gil looked up, trailing off and shielding his eyes from the sun as a young girl approached nervously from behind Lorcán; Lorcán followed his gaze before noticing her and welcomed the girl before beginning introductions.

“Gil, this is my ‘baby’ cousin, Ripley Jones,” Lorcán said with a smile, embracing the petite brunette with a side hug. “She’s starting her first collegiate year this fall.”
“Hi,” Ripley replied shyly, before brushing her bangs away from her face, before turning to whisper to Lorcán, _{“You didn’t tell me you knew Gil freakin’ Galahad!”}
A confused look came over Lorcán’s face for a second before bursting into a wide smile.
“Oh yeah, he’s-” Lorcán paused, turning back towards Gil, “-you’re a movie star or something, right?” Lorcán chuckled softly. “Y’know, she actually lives in Crestwood Hollow.”

Gil beamed, standing and brushing off the sand to offer a hand to shake. “Always nice to meet a fan. You know we actually shot on-location for a few episodes. It’s a beautiful town. Would you like a selfie?”
“Of course she wou-” A sharp elbow to the ribs stopped the words mid-breath as Lorcán was forced to sharply exhale.
_{“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”} Ripley began to whisper frantically, _{“This is so not the way I wanted to meet Gil Galahad!”} She pleaded, tugging at Lorcán’s hand. _{“I am so going to get you back for this the minute I find out which one of these girls is-”}
“I think we were leaving after all,” Lorcán said with a smile while tucking his surfboard under his arm. “If I don’t see you before the kick-off ceremony, enjoy the rest of the holiday.”

Gil pointed a finger and grinned. "Hey - you too, bud. Big day tomorrow!"
He watched the pair trek off down the beach, chatting to each other as they went, and the grin faded from Gil's face as they went; the jovial expression was gone completely before Lorcán and Ripley had put 10 yards behind them. He put a hand to his pocket, feeling the weight and shape of his phone through the polyester. Come on, Gilbert. Get a grip. It's your last year, and then an easy ride to your very own Walk of Fame star. Imagine what that Hollywood Reporter cover shoot will do for your image.

He scanned the beach again, and nearly wished he hadn't when he spotted the second teammate of the day; Banjo himself, parading out of the water with half the dignity Lorcán had shown but twice the self-aggrandizing confidence. Gil watched him wring out his shorts and strip his shoes and socks and then looked away as Banjo looked up and around, pointedly searching for someone else to engage with. Or at least to provide a buffer. Gil wasn't sure he had the patience at this present moment to present his usual amiable facade against Banjo's particular brand of attention.

Instead, Gil flinched as the creaking static of a megaphone erupted from behind him before Harper's voice boomed through, sounding for all intents and purposes like a drill sergeant shouting orders; yet despite the harsh tone, Gil felt a small flutter ripple through him regardless. The barked command was Harper through-and-through: disciplined, observant, in favour of the greater good, and unwilling to suffer fools.

Well, hopefully not that last one.

Gil got up, putting text messages out of his head, hoping Banjo didn't notice him amidst the crowded beach, and turned to find the source of the yell. He spotted Aurora's hair before he saw Harper, but Aurora was approaching Harper anyway - and if Aurora was around, Gil could be sure Lorcán would be gravitating closer, if not already bee-lining for the pair of girls. A little two-man tête-à-tête was potentially in order, and the perfect thing to rouse Gil from his funk and bring back the sunny disposition that had been so-far absent from an otherwise gorgeous day.

A light jog through the sand warmed up his legs and helped the sunlight catch his toned torso just-so through the open shirt; he gave a friendly wave as he approached, standing with a smile at a safe distance and making a point not to pay too much attention to what either girl was choosing to reveal, whether that be by Aurora's bikini, or Harper's sundress. Of course, that wasn't to hide that he was interested - just to show that he was interested in a more noble, chivalrous kind of way. That was the idea, at least. He couldn't afford to be being seen as lecherous.

"Hello, ladies! Lovely to see you today. Enjoying the weather? Excited for our final semester?"

Harper’s lips curved upward involuntarily as Aurora’s voice floated toward her.

“Somebody has to keep these maggots in line,” she quipped, her hand sweeping across the beach to emphasize the scattered debris. The sun-drenched sand was still somewhat strewn with remnants of carelessness—discarded wrappers, forgotten plastic bottles, and the occasional abandoned flip-flop. “Or this place will be a disaster zone by the end of the day,” Harper added, her tone half-serious, half-teasing, “And don’t you dare say I’m being too hard on them. Someone has to remind them that this beach is more than just a playground. It’s a fragile ecosystem—a sanctuary for creatures big and small. Like...Kat and little Rothy. And I care immensely about both! So there!” She harrumphed with a pout before dissolving into giggles, Aurora joining her with a melodic laugh.

“I would never! You’re not wrong though… I’d be devastated if they ruined the beach.” Aurora commented as her mind drifted, thinking of the many evenings she’d spent sitting on the shore listening to the waves crash and letting her panic wash away. That, and the boy who’d often keep her company.

“In all seriousness,” Harper continued once she caught her breath, her eyes dancing, “you’re looking at PRCU's new and one and only lifeguard.” She struck a pose, hands on her hips, channeling her inner superhero. “Watch out, world! Harper’s on duty.”

The redhead was brought out of her nostalgic thoughts by her friend’s energetic excitement. “That’s great, Harper! I can’t think of anyone better for the job. It’s the perfect community contribution for you.”

Harper’s gaze shifted from the sun-kissed beach to the worn pages of her sketchbook at Aurora’s comment. “Thanks, Rora,” she replied, her voice soft. She traced the curve of the protagonist’s winged back with her fingertip. “I’ll have to add you to my list of subjects.”

“I’d love nothing more.” Aurora stated before turning to Mei, who had just joined them, giving the girl a welcoming wave as she sat down underneath their umbrella.

The redhead had never been great about being on the receiving end of compliments. Although she greatly valued the sentiment of someone going out of their way to say something nice about her, it was always a challenge to find the words to convey her appreciation properly. Throughout her time at PRCU she had gotten better at accepting them, but still, she much preferred to give a compliment rather than to get one herself. So, when Mei complimented her swimsuit, she did her best not to hesitate and simply offered the girl a genuine smile back.

“Thank you! I’m just really hoping I don’t burn to a crisp. Wouldn’t want to start off the semester on the wrong foot.”

Luckily for her, Gil’s approach took some of the pressure off by changing the subject. “Gil! It’s great to see you too.” She replied to his greeting. “Of course, this year is going to be one to remember, I just know it.”

It truly was hard for Aurora to believe that after 7 years, she was going to be graduating from Pacific Royal Collegiate & University. It had been a long and winding road, mostly bumpy, to get to this point, but she felt fortunate that all of the twists and turns had brought her here. Looking back, she was a completely different person now from when she had first stepped off that ferry as a skittish 12-year-old.

Almost as if on cue, the only person who was fully able to recognize how much she had grown, how much she had truly changed, ran across the beach. The boy who had been by her side through it all, the one who had crossed her mind only a few moments prior. The redhead watched as Lorcán threw a football back to Rory as he joined their group of Canis friends. Most of the girls she knew would have focused their attention on his toned torso or his strong arms, but Aurora found herself gazing at his sunset colored eyes and his bright smile.

While the majority of their current Blackjack cohort enrolled in the first year of University, Aurora and Lorcán had been there for the long haul since Collegiate. He’d been a constant for her since the beginning, and for a girl who only knew change her whole life, it meant everything.

Calli’s arrival caught Aurora’s eye, and she took her focus away from the brown haired boy for only a moment to greet the resident Ice Queen. But, clearly something happened in that split second, because when she looked back she found herself wincing as she watched Lorcán hit the ground with a thud. He might have been an athlete, but that didn’t mean he was always the most coordinated.

“Looks like Myotis could have a real shot at the Laurels this year…” She joked to Gil, blissfully unaware of what had actually caused the boy to take a football to the face. As he sprung up from the ground though, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. A small part of her felt at ease knowing he was okay.

And then Lorcán was looking their way, waving, and Aurora’s face flushed almost instantly as they made eye contact. Sure, they had seen each other over the summer a decent amount - they’d spent many nights together right here, on this very beach, like they always had - but for some reason, this felt different. Maybe it was because all of their friends were around, and yet, Lorcán’s attention seemed focused on only her.

Or maybe it was just a little hot outside and she was seeing things. Yeah, that was it. At least that’s what she told herself as her mouth grew dry. She needed water… or an alcoholic beverage.

Standing up, she brushed the sand off her legs. “I’m going to go grab a drink if anyone wants to come with me,” Aurora shared, the words seeming to catch in her throat just a tad, “Rory practically brought the whole liquor store with him.” She began to walk towards the group that had formed around the cooler, but as she made her way over, she couldn’t help but watch as Amma sauntered across the sand, power radiating outward with every step. The redhead felt goosebumps raise on her arms as the raven haired girl reduced an innocent shell to dust.

There was something off about her, and until Aurora could figure out what it was, she was going to give that girl a wide berth and keep her distance.

Shaking off the fear that had tightened her neck and shoulders, she continued on until she was in earshot of Rory, Haven, and Lorcán, easily maneuvering herself into the conversation. “Yeah, Rory, really sweet of you to think of everyone.” Aurora leaned down to grab a hard seltzer and cracked it open, taking a long swig. “Where’s your brother? Will, right?” She asked, having remembered that he was starting at PRCU this year. She then directed her attention to Haven and motioned to the cloudless sky “Perfect day, right? I saw you out there before, you looked like you were really enjoying yourself.”

Aurora’s left hand absentmindedly moved up to her necklace as she began to fiddle with the heart shaped charm along the gold chain. “Hi Lorcán,” she looked up at him with a smile, “Catch any good waves this morning?” She took another sip from the can in her right before continuing, knowing that the brown haired boy had kin of his own starting this year as well. He had told the redhead all about her over the last few months and how excited he was for his cousin to join him on campus. “And what about Ripley, is she here yet? I can’t wait to meet her.”