The Sanctum rebuilt itself around my intentions.
Black sand pulled inward like someone had yanked a tablecloth, the volcanic grains swirling into the warm stone floor of a pavilion that was already dissolving. The cliff face folded. The cove collapsed into origami. The golden ocean withdrew into nothing, leaving only the ghost of salt on my lips and the lingering taste of Naomi's milk on my tongue. She sat wrapped in a towel in the newly reformed pavilion seating area, drinking champagne from a crystal flute with the serene satisfaction of a woman who has just been worshipped on a beach built from her childhood and sees no reason to rush the afterglow.
Aurora handed Naomi a second towel. Addison stole the champagne bottle.
Belle stood.
