Ava Skye - Salt and Sovereignty

I stood on those white cliffs like I owned the Aegean. The wind was mine. The horizon bent for me. Tourists scattered below like ants — irrelevant. I found a path they'd never dare take, down the jagged rocks to a forgotten stone terrace carved into the cliff face, overlooking nothing but deep blue void. Private. Ancient. Mine. I peeled away every layer the world asked me to wear, slowly, like shedding a skin I never needed. Then I unrolled my mat on the warm limestone and bent my body into shapes that would make the gods nervous. Yoga, alone, suspended between sky and sea — because solitude isn't loneliness when you're this magnificent. Every breath tasted like salt and contempt for anyone who wasn't here. Which was everyone.