She stands alone on the cliff, bare feet gripping the stone ledge. Clouds, angry with rain, churn above her. A blackening storm feeds their chaos, hurtling them towards one another with thunderous force. Lightening crashes down mere feet away, splitting stone, launching shards into the roiling sea pounding against the foot of the cliff. The waves devour the meager offering and rise again, demanding more.
She swallows the salt on her tongue as the clouds release their fury. Frigid drops pelt her skin, setting her nerves aflame. The wind joins the ruckus, twisting the salt and rain, flinging it sideways against her body. Gathering strength, it whips sand and stone and twigs, stinging her eyes, ripping her flesh. It compresses the rage of the storm and sea and slams into her with unrelenting strength. Her feet grip tighter, her body sways, her back bends to its will as it curves her spine to an unnatural degree. Her bones creak in protest to the unforgiving force. And still she bends.
It roars against her defiance, battering her flesh, sucking the breath from her lungs. And still she bends.
It is not the first storm to threaten her, and she knows deep in her soul it will not be the last. So she bends to its will, yielding just enough to survive.
She bends, but she’s never broken.