The Island of Eloria (R-18)

The boat slowly eased into the dock, the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull the only sound that broke the peaceful stillness. As the ship anchored, a sturdy ladder was lowered, the steps creaking slightly under the weight of the first few passengers stepping down. One by one, we made our way onto the shore, the salty breeze ruffling our hair, a welcome change from the stale air of the cabin. 

I stood beside John, his constant chatter a reminder of how little he ever seemed to stop talking. He was already gazing around with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open, his attention fully consumed by the scene in front of us. And I couldn't blame him for it.