Vera

Lucy stands on a sun‑scorched cliff in Cornwall, gazing at the endless sea after her father's sudden death. The heat of the midday sun and the stillness of the landscape mirror her numbness, as the world around her seems frozen in a silent tableau. In the house upstairs, villagers and servants move about, trying to offer comfort, yet she feels detached, as if watching her own grief from a distance. The narrative introduces a deep, almost obsessive bond between Lucy and her father, whose fragile health and shared life have defined her existence.

Against this backdrop, the story gently unfolds Lucy's struggle to reconcile the emptiness that follows, while the Cornwall summer swirls with ordinary details—bright clouds, dry grass, and the occasional village gossip. Her father's passion for the natural world, evident in the pressed grasses left on the table, hints at a lingering presence that may shape her choices ahead. As the heat presses on, Lucy is forced to confront an inner silence that threatens to become her new reality.