Tʜᴇ Isʟᴀɴᴅ Iɴ Bᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ

Dᴀɪʟʏ Rᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇʀ; I Lᴏᴠᴇ Yᴏᴜ

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 12

ℐ𝓋𝓎𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓁ℴ𝓌 𝓁𝒾ℊ𝒽𝓉𝒽ℴ𝓊𝓈ℯ— ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓃𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝓁ℴℊ 𝓃𝓊𝓂𝒷ℯ𝓇: 1,819.

'𝒞𝒶𝓁𝓂 𝓈ℯ𝒶𝓈.'

'ℒℴ𝓌 𝓉𝒾𝒹ℯ.'

'𝒞𝓁ℯ𝒶𝓇 𝓌ℯ𝒶𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇.'

'ℰ𝒶𝓇𝓁𝓎 𝓃𝒾ℊ𝒽𝓉 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁.'

You wound the mechanic rotation. The lantern room lit up in bright rays of yellow and auburn. The light spun and flashed— as though it was repeating Morse code to whatever ships may pass in the night.

Its unique words written in fiery calligraphy— unique to its own, unlike any other lighthouse in the world.

You turned on the battery-powered transmitter— keeping its sound on max, the speaker on, in the unlikely situation, that a ship would find trouble, and requested help in the night.

You backed away from the mechanisms and cold metal of the lantern— the sudden flashing lights scorching your eyes, and looked out to sea.

It was dark now, but the water was still as calm as the day, the slight wind that picked up brushed against the surface— leaving the expanse of waves undisturbed as it went.

From the long, windowed walls hugging the entirety of the lantern room, you could just about make out another ship. A rather large vessel that reminded you of a ferry— armoured and hefty as its barge broke the waves parting under it.

You watched its grey and white body slowly chugging through the water. Bobbing and swaying as it powered on through the night.

When you saw ships this late, you always liked to imagine they were grateful for you. That the little work you did in the lonesome of the encased archipelago you lived on, was worth something in a larger sense. Your work was bigger than you— at least you liked to tell yourself. It made you proud to be who you were in that moment. To stand and watch them go by, knowing you were now a part of their little journey— something greater than your life as it was.

You turned away, and descended down the spiral staircase, sighing exhaustedly as you went. Woefully prepared to drop into your bed, and let the day be forgotten to the next.

You swung yourself around on the railing, stopping in the middle of your shared room, your bed in front of you, but your body facing the centre.

Russia had come back with you after both had finished the pastries. Though he said he wasn't tired, and as you ascended to the lantern room to do your due diligence, he wandered off into the evening, saying he wanted to find someplace new.

Usually, during the day, he crossed the island to get to Dartmouth Meadow— which lay just behind the town. It was quite the walk, so he found it was better during the day, as that would leave him with more time to explore. But after you showed him a map of your little island, he realised he could always take a quicker walk to the Cherry-bark woods— just north of your lighthouse.

You hadn't told him it was too late to go outside, that during the night the wind usually picked up and there was always the terrifying chance a gust would blow him towards the edge, and off the cliffs below.

But he had seemed so excited to see what it was like there, so you chose not to scare him off— if he would even listen anyway.

With the map you leant him in hand, he excitedly explained all the places he was going to go over the time he was here.