After fifteen years in South Carolina, Valentina finally did what she had been putting off for far too long: she left.
She had stayed longer than she should have. The town had been good to her, its people kind, its rhythm familiar. She had tended to the sick, offered comfort in the quiet hours of the night, smiled at strangers until they became friends. But she hadn’t aged. Not in all the years she’d lived there. Not even a little.
And eventually, someone always notices.
So she packed her life into boxes and shipped them to a modest apartment overlooking the sea in a place called Sunset Beach. A new town. A softer light. A chance to disappear among the slow tides and sleepy palms. Her new home was at Sunset Beach Condos, nestled close to the waterfront, where the air carried the scent of salt and citrus and possibility.
She flew down alone, tied off loose ends and said her goodbyes. Some farewells had nearly undone her; those fragile human connections she could never keep, no matter how deeply she felt them. They would forget her in time. But she would not forget them. Not for a hundred years. Not ever.
Now, standing in front of the window facing the sea, a window she had to viciously pry open, Valentina watches the ocean move. The horizon stretches endlessly before her, but for the first time in a long while, she doesn’t feel the need to run.
There is a stillness to her. A softness. Golden blonde hair catching the fading light, amber eyes that seem far older than her youthful face. She moves like someone who’s seen too much, felt too deeply, and survived it all. There’s an elegance to her, a quiet strength but something mournful too, like a ghost who never meant to haunt.
She is a nurse. A healer. A woman who has outlived everyone she’s ever loved, and carries those memories like lanterns in the dark. She doesn’t speak of what she is. Not anymore at least, humans seemed to have lost their sense of empathy and compassion over the centuries. But her hands remember how to comfort. Her presence lingers, gentle and warm, like the last light of day.
And perhaps, here in Sunset Beach, she will find something she has never allowed herself to hope for: a place to stay.
She had stayed longer than she should have. The town had been good to her, its people kind, its rhythm familiar. She had tended to the sick, offered comfort in the quiet hours of the night, smiled at strangers until they became friends. But she hadn’t aged. Not in all the years she’d lived there. Not even a little.
And eventually, someone always notices.
So she packed her life into boxes and shipped them to a modest apartment overlooking the sea in a place called Sunset Beach. A new town. A softer light. A chance to disappear among the slow tides and sleepy palms. Her new home was at Sunset Beach Condos, nestled close to the waterfront, where the air carried the scent of salt and citrus and possibility.
She flew down alone, tied off loose ends and said her goodbyes. Some farewells had nearly undone her; those fragile human connections she could never keep, no matter how deeply she felt them. They would forget her in time. But she would not forget them. Not for a hundred years. Not ever.
Now, standing in front of the window facing the sea, a window she had to viciously pry open, Valentina watches the ocean move. The horizon stretches endlessly before her, but for the first time in a long while, she doesn’t feel the need to run.
There is a stillness to her. A softness. Golden blonde hair catching the fading light, amber eyes that seem far older than her youthful face. She moves like someone who’s seen too much, felt too deeply, and survived it all. There’s an elegance to her, a quiet strength but something mournful too, like a ghost who never meant to haunt.
She is a nurse. A healer. A woman who has outlived everyone she’s ever loved, and carries those memories like lanterns in the dark. She doesn’t speak of what she is. Not anymore at least, humans seemed to have lost their sense of empathy and compassion over the centuries. But her hands remember how to comfort. Her presence lingers, gentle and warm, like the last light of day.
And perhaps, here in Sunset Beach, she will find something she has never allowed herself to hope for: a place to stay.
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