Mellyb21

    The wind was waging yet another endless and futile war against the old lighthouse at the very tip of the peninsula in Centra’s most eastern part. The sea was stormy and angry that day, letting its waves crash endlessly onto the ancient granite, formed in untold times by a volcano that once bleeded lava there, giving birth to new land. The volcano had died centuries ago, and the land was in no threat of being shaken by the earth’s wrath. Only the sea posessed some sort of threat now, slowly eating away the softer parts of the granite. For the lighthouse, the sea’s threat was a de facto, something that would eventually come,