Three Sentence Ficathon

The last time she sees him, they go down to the sea; to the Channel cold and grey below its cliffs, to the honeycomb of caves, old havens of pirates and smugglers and outcasts like the pair of them, exiles in search of a haven, a place free of prying eyes and judgements.

They stay as long as the tide will allow; she doesn’t fuss over the damp and dark, and he doesn’t mention the hard-packed sand under their bodies.

Before they leave, he carves it for her, leaving their love behind, embedded in the stone of the cave with her laughter; E&S intertwined, crowned with a lopsided heart, as much of their old country as their hands can manage to recreate, here-

(-Susan will try, in the years after, to find the cave again and again, but they are a maze, one too much like the other, and she never does.)