When the first light of the rising sun touched the curtains of the bed, she slowly opened her eyes. Another day. Once again she drew back the white curtains around the four poster, stretched and swung her feet out of the bed. The floor under her feet was cold and the stones were cracked already, a little mouse fled and disappeared into a hole in the wall. She watched it, then walked to the window to look outside. It was a cool and clear morning, even the mountains were visible through the broken windows.

    After a while she turned away again, sat down at the dressing table and looked into the mirror for a while. It was cracked and dusty, but to her it didn't matter. With a sigh she picked up a brush. Slowly she let her thin fingers run through her almost white hair before she slowly started brushing it. She had time. She always had. It was a day like any other.

    Her hair was falling down on her shoulders like silk, when she got up again. Her white nightshirt moved in the wind, which brought in the salty smell of the sea.

    As usual the house was busy already. She looked up at the chandelier and watched the birds for a while. The young had hatched a few days earlier and gave their parents a lot of work. Somewhere else in the house cats seemed to be having a quarrel. She wasn't alone.

    After pulling on her dress, she left her room and went downstairs. The wind chased a few leaves through the dark corridor and a squirrel disappeared into the kitchen. The kitchen... she hadn't had breakfast for a long time. Toast, butter, jam, eggs... she remembered, yes. Back then.

    Instead of going to the kitchen, she went into the living room. It was filled with broken furniture and half crumbled books. It was a shame to let them rot, but no one ever came to get them. Some days ago a few children came and made a fire in the old fireplace. They didn't stay long after she came to have a word with them. She didn't like strangers in the house and was good in making them go again.

    For a while she looked up at the ruined portrait over the fireplace. It had once shown the stern face of her great-grandmother. Now it was mainly black. Through the holes in the wall, which had been two glass doors, she went out on the terrace and into the garden. The paved paths were overgrown with bushes and the wind whispered in the leaves of the old trees. What had been a lawn was now a meadow, full of weeds and flowers, but also butterflies, grasshoppers, bees and mice. Life was everywhere. Today it was hard to imagine what it once looked like. She knew. She could nearly see it.

    Along the old paths she walked towards the cliffs. Like every day. She looked out at the wide sea, her dress billowed in the wind and her shawl fluttered behind her like a flag. And she waited. She promised. Day after day she stood there on the rock and looked and searched for a sign. It never came. But she would wait.

    Under her, the green water was steadily washing the cliffs and there, in the distance... no, this ship was too small. She sighed.

    Suddenly there was an unusual movement behind her. She quickly turned around and saw a figure in a black cloak under a tree. He looked up when she walked closer and looked at her out of the shadow under his hood.

    'Is it time?'

    He slowly shook his head and turned away to pick something up from the high grass. A little bird had fallen out of the nest. For a moment the figure hesitated. He gave her another look before he walked away and disappeared somewhere between the bushes.

    For a while she went on staring at the tree, then she turned around again and went back to her place. The sun was getting warmer now. She knew it would be a hot day, but things like that didn't bother her now. Again she searched the sea for the right ship. She promised to wait. She waited every day. He would come. He had to. He had promised to come back.

    As the sun got brighter and quite hot around noon. She gave up trying to shield her eyes with her hands, it didn't work, and so she just sat down under a tree, still staring at the sea. What if he wouldn't come again? Maybe tomorrow? Yes, tomorrow...