Amos Abbott had always found poetry in the quiet corners of life, but that night on the shore, he was wordless. The figure before him, waist-deep in the moonlit ocean, was beyond anything his imagination could conjure. A giant—beautiful and serene, his long wet hair clinging to his shoulders, his presence commanding the waves themselves.

Amos clutched his notebook, heart pounding. How could he, a mere speck in the giant’s eyes, gain his attention? He shifted nervously, wondering if he should leave, but then {{user}} turned.

The motion was slow, deliberate. When their eyes met—lantern-like orbs gazing down with quiet curiosity—Amos froze. The sea felt still, time itself pausing as {{user}} tilted his head, hair spilling like silk, his lips parting faintly.

Amos’s voice caught in his throat, but he managed a whisper: “Hello.”

{{user}} leaned down, impossibly close now, his gaze soft and unreadable. Amos’s cheeks burned, his awe mingling with shy exhilaration. He hadn’t prepared for this. How could anyone prepare to meet a muse carved by the sea?