The Lady.

Chris slowly opened his eyes as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon, casting a warm glow on the sandy shore. He listened to the gentle sound of waves lapping at the shore and the whistling of trees dancing to the tune of the wind.

He felt mesmerized by the beauty of the sea, which was neat and clean and white. A sense of peace prevailed over him.

The rhythmic sounds of the waves and the gentle swaying of the trees were like a balm to his soul. He watched as a group of fishermen set out in their small wooden boats, their nets cast over the side ready for the day's catch.

But his reverie was short-lived, as a familiar voice cut through the air, calling him out.

"Chris!" he heard. "Come on, boy, breakfast is served." His aunt added from the porch of their beach house.

Chris turned and smiled, smelling the scent of freshly brewed coffee and cornbread wafting towards him on the breeze. He stood up and brushed the sand off his clothes as he made his way to the cottage. As he walked, he passed by a group of children playing with a homemade ball, their laughter ringing out in the morning air. It was unlike any other morning he had ever experienced.

He came into the house with a smile on his face. And he saw a familiar figure in the distance. It was his father, who had come to embrace him. And share a meal with them in his presence.

They sat at the table and enjoyed their food, talking and laughing with each other. And a bond of love and gratitude could be felt, a connection between a son and a father.

And when he left them for his room, he was much pleased and loved the day. He then took his instrument and began to play. A melody that filled the air with joy. He felt happy and relaxed, nothing was wrong. He was just a carefree and cheerful boy.

When the sun reached its highest point in the sky, he decided to go to the beach to feel its fresh breeze and cool his demons.

He approached the beach from afar. The fog dispersed, revealing a wonder. A sight so strange, so marvelous. Beyond his wildest dreams and fears.

Like David watching Bathsheba, Chris hid behind the bushes to watch her as the cold water reached her feet and the waves crashed and peeled away the sand beneath her feet. She tilted her face to the sun, letting the salt water touch her lips. She shook her hair and smiled, and he was dazzled by her warmth. He thought of moving closer to get a better view of what seemed unreal to him. Perhaps, or maybe, he had met an angel for the first time in his life.

He stood there, watching her walk away. His mind urged him to follow her, but his feet were weak and feeble. He felt helpless as he turned to walk home, glancing back at her fading figure.

The evening was fast approaching as he walked home, and from a distance he stopped, pleased by the calmness of the pool. It was located near an orchard that had been cleared, and the trees, the grass, and the sky all blended in harmony with the water. But then, a surge, a splash shattered the water and all that was in it. And then, after a while, calm and tranquility reigned.

He wondered who or what had caused the splash. He looked around but saw no one. He shrugged and continued his walk, feeling a pang of regret for letting her go. He wished he dared to tell her how he felt, but he was afraid of rejection.

He got home just as the sun was going down, making the sky look like a big orange fire. He said hello to his aunt and his dad, who was sitting on the porch, feeling the cool air. They asked him how his day was, and he said it was, okay. He didn't say anything about the girl he saw on the beach. He didn't want to tell anyone about her, not even his family.

He went to his room and lay down on his bed, looking at the ceiling. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Her face, her smile, her hair, her eyes. He wondered who she was, where she came from, and what she was doing there. He wished he knew her name or something about her. He felt a funny feeling for her, a feeling that made him want to be with her.

He couldn't sleep. He got up and looked out the window, hoping to see her somewhere. But all he saw was darkness and stars. He closed the window feeling mad and lonely. He wished he could see her again, talk to her, touch her. He wondered if she felt the same way about him, or if she even saw him at all.

He lay down again, trying to calm down. He told himself that it was just a crush, a silly thing. He told himself that he would forget about her soon enough. He told himself that he was being dumb and foolish.

But deep down, he knew that he was lying to himself.

He knew that he had fallen in love with her.

And he knew that he would do anything to find her again.

Now, he fell asleep, and he dreamed of her, and he felt a warm thing in his loins. It was a sweet and bitter thing, a thing he wanted more than anything. Maybe dreams came true. He thought he heard a knock at his door, a knock that sounded like her voice. He woke up with a jolt, his feet shaky but his body and soul strong. He walked to the door and opened it slowly, as a song of love played in his head.

For he had wished to see her there, with a smile on her face and a flower in her hand. He had wished to hear her say his name, and tell him that she loved him too. He had wished to hold her in his arms and kiss her under the moon.

But there was no one at the door. Only the night and the cold wind. He looked around, puzzled and hurt. He shouted her name, but no one replied. He knew it was all a dream, a mean and taunting dream.

He turned to walk away from the door, feeling hollow and alone. But something stopped him, something drew him back. He turned again to the door, and his eyes grew big in wonder. She was standing there, just looking at him, waiting for him to make a move.

She was real. She was here. She was his.

He couldn't believe it. He couldn't talk. He couldn't move.

He just stood there, gazing at her, as if she was a miracle.

And maybe she was.

And as he stood there, he felt music playing within him. A music that matched the song in his head. A music that filled his heart with joy. A music that told him what to do.

He reached out his hand to her, and she took it in hers.

He pulled her close to him, and she wrapped her arms around him.

And now their bodies mingled and their lips entwined, and he wished to forget the world that lay beyond them and to feel only her form pressed to his. Though he knew she was but a phantom of his fevered mind, he shunned the truth that would unmask her and became a willing victim to his passion. For he had longed for her, to touch her gentle flesh, to feel her bosom swell. He wanted her to be his own, the idol of his soul.