Pluviophiles Some like the rain. Perhaps too much. It just feels like something you could clutch in your hands, your heart heavy with the water of a hundred lands. A little girl danced before the stars each night, her skin soaking and her eyes bright, fragile fingers twirling as water poured between the creases of her clothes. Palms outstretched towards the sky. How she wished to cry and create a shower of her own. If only then she had known that her love of this rain would not be enough to fix the endless beating of the one encased within. Years later and the rain acts only as a reminder of her Sin, it is beating harsh, petulant. Chilling. It follows her now. She’s a simple experiment. Something pretty. Something sour. Years have passed. She is callous and a coward. A man watches from afar, twisted
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