pink cliffs

flickr

Good Morning from Scotland. 

Misty morning sunrise over Slains Castle by Ian Cowe
Via Flickr:
Slains Castle is said to be the inspiration for Dracula’s Castle in Bram Stoker’s novel. Bram Stoker used to holiday at nearby Cruden Bay and went for walks to the castle. The castle was a home (home of the Earls of Errol who were the chiefs of the Clan Hay) until the 1920s when the roof was removed to avoid paying tax.

New paths

Just a little post TFP drabble i wrote. And as my eyes are drooping, any mistake is mine and am sorry for that.


The winds were strong but surprisingly not very cold. The clouds were supposed to bring a dip in the temperature but other than split the sun’s rays in various shades of grey, they did little else. The salt in the air made her feel fresh. It wasn’t every day that she managed to get away from the confines of the hospital and London and get away to the coast.

But she did. And it seemed to be an excellent decision, no matter the pressing reason behind it. Mild clouds, fresh air and green all around did wonders for her spirits.

She wondered why she hadn’t done this earlier.

But then she hadn’t felt such a mixture of emotions before. There had been anger, pain, frustration, sorrow…relief. The smorgasbord of feelings had made London seem claustrophobic. So she had left at first light, catching the first train out of town, not even sure of her destination.

She had always loved the sea, always loved the sound of waves as they crashed on the shore. There was something calming, something tremendously soothing about the repetitiveness of that action. Something that gave her a faint glimpse that things would be alright, that she would survive. She’d always had and she always would.

She was stronger than they gave her credit for.

She looked at the now tepid tea in her hand, placing the cup down and leaning on the table as she gave the scene in front her whole undivided attention. The season meant that there were hardly any crowds; she had the terrace to herself and no one to disturb her reverie.

After the last few days…especially that evening, all she wanted was to be left alone, to be undisturbed.

She’d jumped a little when the waiter interrupted her thoughts to ask her order.

“I am going for a walk, maybe I’ll have something a bit late,” she replied.

The walk by the cliffs felt exhilarating, her hair getting blown this way and that, the breeze almost uncomfortably strong at some spots. She persisted, walking till she couldn’t see her hotel. The steep drop to the beach below would’ve terrified her at other times, but all she could think right then was how high above the water she was, and how she intended to remain so.

She stopped at an area that had a sturdy railing, looking back at the path she had taken. It seemed tough, with dips and rises and gaps in the cliff face that looked frightening from where she stood. But it didn’t seem like that while she was walking.

She barked out a laugh. How appropriately similar to her own life.

She was shaking her head in proper mirth when something magical happened. The sun appeared from behind the cloud cover on its way down, casting a magical pink glow on the cliff face. The cliffs were glowing in their rosy golden glory and it was beautiful, so beautiful-

“Makes you want to cry, doesn’t it? It looks so glorious.”

She had no idea how long he had been there, but somehow she wasn’t surprised to see him. She turned to look back at the cliffs, and in good time ‘coz the sun disappeared behind clouds and then it was all normal, boring white cliff face.

Something otherwise majestic had now been reduced to ‘boring’, just because of a glorious moment. Not fair, she muttered.

But the air was still fresh, the breeze still warmish and she still felt fine. In fact, she felt wonderful.

They fell in step as they walked back to the hotel, not feeling the need to use words. The silence was companionable, almost soothing. The path now seemed a bit rough, Molly cursing herself for not realising that she had been walking downslope all this while.

She came at a particular spot that she had just jumped down from, the small climb now looking difficult in the fading light.

Sherlock got up halfway in just two steps, but instead of going ahead he turned around. And offered her his hand.

She looked at it for a moment, suddenly feeling breathless, not able to take her eyes off it. Until he gestured with his fingers for her to come closer and take his hand, which she did. He pulled her up as he made the small climb, easily hauling her up over the edge.

She smiled in relief when she finally made it to the top, she’d never been very agile that way.. Her smile faded as she looked up at his grave face, realising then that he still held her hand. He simply stared back at her.

She waited. He was the first to break their gaze, lowering his eyes to their joint hands. He then slightly tightened his grip and looked up, slowly smiling.

It was the most intimate expression she’d ever seen on him. The smile conveyed a lifetime of apology, a lifetime of gratitude…and a lifetime of promise. So much promise.

It wasn’t the smoothest of paths in the fading light but she made it back with ease. He never did leave her hand during that time.