A bed of sand comforts the head of an ebony-haired girl. Little goosebumps prick the skin not covered by the clothes that stick to her thin limbs. Little waves flow over her ankles.

If one were to look out beyond those little waves, they would see a vast body of water, gray and uninviting.

Wavy strands of wet hair stick to her pale face. Her hairline is sprinkled with remnants of saltwater and the curves of her tinted purple lips are chapped. The most prominent feature of her face is the dark bruise on her forehead, above her left eyebrow.

The horizon, densely populated with storm clouds, greets the dark sea in such a way that it creates just the smallest bit of light. Though it is midmorning, it could be mistaken for the very early morning when the sun is not up.

The girl lies sprawled and unmoving on the wet sand. There is no one about to worry for her or to help her. For hours, the waves at her ankles and calves, but she does not wake.

Somehow, she fits in with the scene. It seems an odd thing to say, but the wildness of her form seems to go well with the untamed ocean.

And, then, there is the question of how she came to be washed ashore on a cold Korean beach. From the looks of her clothes, she seems to have come from significant civilization. Only the water knows where she came from.

If only she had spoken to the ocean, asked it about her past, maybe it would have told her commonplace things about her past that she can no longer recall, due to the nasty bump on her temple.