I remember running through the halls, under the shade of olive trees in the courtyard. There was someone chasing me, a nanny or a servant, but in my memories it doesn't matter who it was. The point is I was always being chased. My feet burned on the hot stones, and my lungs rasped from the salty air in my lungs, and I loved it. I miss it. I was always running. I could always smell the sea too, but I never saw the sea in my childhood. I was always surrounded by walls, penned in by my family. I still think it's unfair, that I should have spent my childhood smelling like the sea and never been down to be with her.
The footsteps grow closer behind me. They're catching up. When I was a child, I'd always try to run faster, but I could never get away; my legs were just too short, no matter how fast I ran I was always caught in the end.
In the end, I could never escape fate.