She stood on the cliff's edge, the salty wind playing with her hair like a child ruffles his mother's veil at a forgotten fairytale. Below, waves crashed and dove into the rocks, a rhythmic dance choreographed by the moon's unseen hand. The echoes of laughter danced on the breeze, but their source was lost like a sailor's compass in the mist.
Every Thursday, without fail, she came here. To place pieces of her life together, like assembling an intricate puzzle, missing just a few pieces to be whole. The laughter often returned, a sound woven of joy and hidden stories, whispering hints of forgotten summers.
Once, she believed it belonged to children—no, spirits—lost in the twilight, searching for marbles or dreams. Today, it was the voice of a stranger, a beaconing laugh that seemed to know the secret paths of her soul. Did she dare follow its call?
On the edge of the world, where earth meets sky and horizon blurs into mystery, she pondered. Was it light, or a trick of the ear? The horizon seemed to beckon, and as she stepped forward, she felt the cool whisper of destiny.