Rainwashed
Lightning was standing on the rain-grey stone of her balcony, listening to the hungry grumble of the storm. Her husband was on his way home. She could tell from the murmur of the vales which echoed his musky smell. He had been drinking again, licking up drops from the glass-bottom of lakes, gulping down the foam of the sea. He kicked the door open with a crack, a sound like clouds being torn apart. The wall of the castle trembled with his strength, although it stood firm in the wind. It was solid, a heavy fist resting on the rocks with the gravity of a prison.
Lightning couldn’t take it anymore. She didn’t want to. The days of her youth were dripping on her from above with the melody of wild flowers and the clean smell of the North. What happened to her?
She heard Thunder coming up the stairs, his boots stomping on crumbling marble. It was time for her to act. When Thunder reached the balcony, he saw Lightning go down in a flash, dragging her golden veil after her. The universe stopped spinning for a second as he watched his wife slipping away from his grip. He made the quick decision; he would try to save everything for a last time. He threw himself after Lightning, soared though the air roaring her name but she was falling too fast. However hard he tried, and he keeps trying even today, he would always be behind her with a heartbeat.
