The sea-weathered glass in her net bag clinks softly as she walks the shoreline. The day has barely dawned, and she is alone. Always alone. She stoops to pick up another shell and examine it, deem it proper enough to treasure. Half a heart cockle. Fitting. Another few feet and she finds a small, white shell with a swirling pattern. Baby’s ear. The name floats to the front of her mind and a tear falls down her cheek as she caresses the shell. Her most recent failure is why she’s alone now. Always alone.