"The beach is gone, did you see? All the sand is in our houses."
Disbelief and devastation blended with acceptance in Suraya's voice, producing something akin to wonder. The sunshine bathing the room set her perspective aglow with a dreamlike clarity.
Her companion gazed sullenly at the cerulean glazed crockery, inwardly bemoaning how rapidly she found herself in a state of mental disrepair.
"I hate mandarin oranges," Marguerite spat vehemently, as if repulsed by the tangy citrus scent wafting in the air. Desolate, she stroked an earthen crack in her azure bowl.
Suraya remained unmoved, fixated with the waves slapping indolently against the porch steps. "Yes," she smiled breezily. "The children are building sandcastles in the living room."