she wasn’t going to die, 

not here. 

She was beautiful on that slippery ledge, soft features blending into the soft lines of sea washed limestone.

Almond eyes and almond tears, salty water dripping on solid slippery rock,

crumbling slippery rock,
gone.
Then her hand grasped only air, 

salty sharp breeze cutting at the soft caramel flesh of her outreached fingers.
Ok, 

so maybe this was where she died, 

but as her body met the hungry rocks and thirsty sea she thought: 

’at least I died doing something stupid’