Cynthia glanced up, startled to find she was no longer alone. A woman she recognized vaguely from the resort’s front office was standing beside the bench, one hand resting on it, her eyes fastened on the rock.
Despite her stylish dress, the woman bore an unfortunate resemblance to the wicked witch in Snow White, but when she turned her eyes to Cynthia, Cynthia saw a startling beauty in them. They were an astonishing shade of violet.
“Has that rock always been there?” she asked, even though it seemed a foolish question. “I can’t believe I never noticed it before.”
“Oh.” The woman waved her hand dismissively. “You know. The tides.”
Of course. The tides would come and go, revealing things and hiding things with the water’s changing depths.
“Could I join you for a moment?”
Considering how eager she had been to divest herself of her mother’s and the baron’s company, Cynthia felt strangely open to sharing her bench with the old woman.
“Merry Montrose,” the woman said, extending her hand.
Cynthia was startled by the handshake. There was nothing old about it. In fact she felt a shiver of pure energy run up and down her arm as she accepted the woman’s hand.
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