Kendra had wanted a beach wedding.
Blue—she would have had her bridesmaids wear blue—is a stable color, ever-changing, violent, peaceful, optimistic, down, like both sky and sea before her. Bill…had been more blue movie than blue chip. And they'd both known that starting out.
Funny how it was bills, wolves mostly named things like "water" and "electric" and "hospital", that had chased Bill away.
Kendra felt a hand on her shoulder, turned away from the ocean, found herself face to face with herself: blue gown scorched, torn, muddy; hair damp with salt water.
Snow, fire, vines, peaks, and seas: such a viciously beautiful realm Kendra had run herself to the bone to get through! The weariness dragged her down to the sand—she did not cry, she would not cry, she had done entirely enough crying.
She could paint that beauty, perhaps? A series of landscapes? Start an Etsy shop? She would start with colored pencils, before buying expensive paints; she hadn't touched—hadn't had time to touch—her art supplies since before she had met Bill.
Kendra would make time. She could tame the wolves—try to win blue ribbons—
To thine own self be true.