Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any of the characters, situations, ideas, etc., of the comic Hellboy. This is being written for entertainment, not for financial gain. Much gratitude.
Waiting for Letters
"Have some fish," says the pleasant old woman. Her fork clatters against the edge of her plate, and neatly spears a piece of the flaky white skin.
The younger woman shakes her head in a polite refusal, looks aside to the water choppy with coming spring.
The old woman smiles. "You're thinking of someone," she says, in that teasing, semi-disinterested tone of those who know.
"No," the younger woman laughs, and there are a few lines around her eyes. They do not diminish the peculiar intensity of her features, but they make her seem more human, older, frailer - more like who she really is, or who she is not. The old woman is more concerned about gossip.
"Oh, but you look so moody, dear," the old woman scolds gently, and bites into the flaking whiteness of the fish.
The younger woman looks sad. "I don't enjoy fish," she says, obscurely adding, "anymore." Something is beneath her voice, and she readies a smile, turning the pages idly in the cracked leather volume she has propped on the restaurant table, outside where the wind is still harsh and the water is just below the rocks.
It swirls white, and hesitates before slowly receding from the shore.
"Does your young man write?" the old woman asks, carefully.
The younger woman smiles, now. "Yes," she answers.
She orders chicken when the waiter arrives, and watches the sea again.