Spring Break (6)

Seraphina was sitting at the very edge of the cliff, her legs dangling lazily above the churning waters below. The moonlight bathed her in silver, accentuating every curve, every strand of her ethereal hair that shimmered like spun moonlight. And then there was her swimsuit—a simple bikini that somehow managed to seem regal on her, as if the very concept of swimwear had been invented just for her use.

I froze mid-step. My brain short-circuited.

For the first time in a long while, I genuinely questioned the legality of something. Because surely looking this good in front of me—me, of all people—had to break some sort of natural law.