Goodnight Moon (100 words, including title)
The path across the sea gleams gold, then red. Next should be silver – but the silver path never appears.
The sea once licked the cliffs twice a day; her magic rose with it. There were pools, where limpets with their delicate striated shells clung, where anemones tossed tendrilled hair, and shrunk with the retreating tide to fat shiny jewels. There, at low tide, magic hid.
Now the pools have dried, and she with them. Once she danced the moon’s path; now she is a husk, an empty shell washed up on the shoreline; now, there is no moon.
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