The sun hung low over the Aegean Sea, painting the sky with strokes of molten gold and blushing pink, as if an artist had spent centuries perfecting this one moment. It's the first time for Aleysia to be in Santorini; she thought it must have been a place stolen from a dream—a place too magical to exist in reality.
Medusa and Aleysia stepped off the private jet and onto the island, the salty breeze tousling their beautiful hair, carrying with it the faint aroma of the sea. The caldera rose before them, a towering crescent of volcanic rock, its edges crowned with whitewashed houses that seemed to defy gravity.
They clung to the cliffs like pearls strung on an invisible thread, dazzlingly bright against the deep cobalt of the sea below. Medusa took a deep breath, the familiar scent still as she remembered it from centuries ago. There was something inside her that began to stir, and she couldn't help but let a few tears escape.
