The waves had been merciless, dragging you under and tossing you like a rag doll before finally depositing you, broken and battered, on the shores of Amazon Lily. You lay sprawled on the sand, barely conscious, when you felt strong hands lifting you gently, yet with a firm purpose that surprised you.

She was unlike any woman you'd ever seen before: tall, muscular, fierce—Marguerite, one of the island's elite warriors. Her eyes were sharp and suspicious, but there was a flicker of something softer as she looked down at you.

“You’re lucky,” she said, her voice low and rough, “that I found you before the island did.”

You groaned, trying to push yourself up, but she was quick to stop you. “Don’t try to move,” she warned. “You’re worse off than I thought.”

Days passed in a haze of fever and weakness. Marguerite never left your side. She brought you food, tended to your wounds with surprising gentleness, and sat quietly while you drifted in and out of consciousness. Despite her fierce exterior, her care was tender—a paradox that intrigued you endlessly.

She was curious about men—an odd thing for a woman from an island that shunned them—but instead of hatred, you sensed something like baffled fascination. She questioned you relentlessly: where you came from, what you were doing so far from the sea, if men really were as despicable as she claimed.

And you, with nothing better to do, spun the most ridiculous tales you could think of. Stories of cities floating in the sky, fish that sang lullabies, and men who fought wars with nothing but their laughter.

Marguerite listened, eyes wide, nodding as though every word was gospel. You couldn’t help but laugh at how easily she believed you—this fierce warrior, reduced to an earnest child in the face of your nonsense.

“You’re full of it,” she accused once, crossing her arms. “No way a city floats in the sky.”

“Ah,” you said with mock seriousness, “but that’s just because you’ve never seen it.”

Her eyes narrowed, but a smile tugged at her lips.

“You’re lucky I’m the one who found you,” she muttered, shaking her head.

As the days turned into weeks, your strength returned, but so did your growing fascination with Marguerite. Behind her sharp words and sometimes harsh demeanor was a woman shaped by a harsh world—unyielding but not without kindness.

She challenged you daily, pushing you to move, to eat, to heal. And in return, you shared stories and laughter, weaving a fragile bridge between two very different lives.

One afternoon, sitting together under the canopy of a sprawling tree, you asked, “Why do you hate men so much?”

She looked away, the usual fire in her eyes dimmed by something vulnerable. “Because they destroy what they touch. This island, my home… I’ve seen enough.”

You nodded slowly, understanding that her hatred was born from pain.

“But not all men,” you said softly. “Maybe some can be different.”

She glanced at you, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “Maybe,” she said.

You realized then that in this place of fierce warriors and hidden kindness, you had found an unexpected sanctuary—and maybe even a friend.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you and Marguerite sat side by side, two souls from different worlds brought together by chance, laughter, and stories that only grew taller with time.