The ocean glistened beneath a sky so clear she could scarcely have imagined it during the years she’d lived in the city. From her window, she could clearly see the lighthouse as well as the small rocks that stood out in the centre of the bay like the crest of some underwater dragon. The neat row of houses along the seafront, beyond the Englishman’s Beach, quivered through the heat haze rising from the docks. If she half-closed her eyes, it seemed like a paradise conjured by Claude Monet, her father’s favourite artist. Irene opened the window and let the salty sea air fill the room. A flock of seagulls nesting on the cliffs turned to observe her with curiosity. Her new neighbours. Not far away, Irene noticed that Dorian had already set himself up in his favourite spot among the rocks. He was probably busy cataloguing his daydreams, his flights of fancy, or whatever it was that engrossed him during his solitary wanderings. She was trying to make up her mind what to wear when she heard an unfamiliar voice, speaking fast and cheerfully, downstairs.
What do You think about The Watcher In The Shadows?
