Sookie Stackhouse

Laying on the beach, ears simply open to the sound of crashing waves and the call of seagulls in the distance, wasn't a luxury that Sookie Stackhouse allowed herself very often anymore. Although she'd been nothing but ecstatic upon learning that she'd secured herself a Council seat for the second time, it had the effect of only renewing her resolve to offer to the collective everything she could, to protect them, to provide for them— to the point where taking time for herself was only something Sookie turned to when it was necessary, feeling irresponsible otherwise. She was good at knowing when she approached her limit, had yet to snap at anyone on the Council itself (it helped that they were all equally as or even more responsible than she, not prone to leaving one another with negative surprises). And that was why Sookie decided that afternoon to take just an hour off, between class and Council work. Just an hour.

A weekend of honesty had apparently been harder on the island population than she expected.

After slathering herself with copious amounts of sunscreen, Sookie laid a large towel out over the beach, smoothing it out with a few sweeps of her hand, At the end, she dropped a pillow, stuffed with dried grasses and the cover made of the thinnest bamboo reeds, constructed to make sand easy to beat out. There were so many ways, she thought to herself, that her life had changed on the island. Sometimes, she wondered if her past self would even recognize the woman she'd become, largely hopeful, ambitious, responsible in a way she'd never had to be before.

But thinking on the way her lips quirked as she felt the sun's rays on her, Sookie couldn't help but think that ultimately, some things would always remain the same.