hello! this is the epilogue to my first multiple chapters fanfic. I'm still not entirely sure about the title and I might change it in the future,,
this is actually more of a challenge to me and I hope to succeed in achieving it. And of course, the sooner, the better!
Since the epilogue is really small, I suggest listening to Mer by Françoise Hardy, I actually wrote this while listening to it.
Epilogue:
Late at night, when the stars and moon were her only company, sat a young Italian woman in front of her mirror, the gentle moonlight was the only thing that illuminated the big room through dancing thin white curtains and made her soft reflection visible on the cheval glass, she spent a good fifteen minutes there just contemplating her picture, before sighing and grabbing a big pair of scissors with her delicate small hand, and soon started cutting her thick wavy and dark chestnut locks. Once she was done, she stared at the result with bored eyes, long dark lashes cast a shadow over her beautiful hazel orbs that usually shone gold in the daylight, this was her first step to an altered life, a new design for her future, not physically, but generally, it didn't matter, she just needed something different for once, something to help her feel... better.
Fame and wealth were once her front-page dream, but that was a long time ago, before she finally made that achievement and became a worldwide known writer, but now none of that mattered, not when she was so lonely and drowned in the dull routine.
The mediterranean grabbed her rotary dial telephone and booked a plane ticket, in two days exactly she would be off Italian grounds. A small smile ghosted over her soft lips, she laid on her due piazze and watched the moon, suddenly feeling melancholic like every other night, but this time it was a different kind of melancholy, it felt poetic, softer, perhaps it held something beautiful and actually jubilant in it, because her smile hadn't faltered yet. She closed her eyes; tomorrow she would visit the mundane, way-too-familiar streets of Rome one last time before her trip.
That had been her last thought before finally falling asleep and dreaming of the sea, a familiar dream, waves that dance and play, before breaking and melting to the ground, a sea that cries waves that taste like tears, a sea that looks so appealing, as if it reflected compassion and empathy with the young Italian, understood how she felt, and often in her dream she would let herself be taken away, her body so light to the sea but her heart so heavy. She wanted to sleep in the sea and reborn elsewhere than this place, elsewhere than her head.