On the Loch

                They met on the Loch, two figures on a boat that cut through the mist. Jules peered wistfully into Nessie's waters, hunting for strange shadows looming in their depths. Roy stood on the bow, fresh water spraying his face, enjoying anonymous freedom in the Scottish fog. As he turned towards the boat's interior; as she looked up, eyes searching the gray sky; as the tour guide droned on about cryptozoological wonders, they caught each other's gaze and smiled. Suddenly their quests were made irrelevant by sudden attraction's haze. The world ground to a halt, or perhaps their souls flew together at a speed beyond light.

She rose from the boat's glass-bottom, previous wonders forgotten. He walked towards her, blind to the Loch and its muddled air. He who dreamt of myths, uncovered a quiet marvel. She who wished for the impossible, unearthed its striking reflection. In the skies above, grey clouds swirled together, intermingling and becoming one. So too did their souls.

They met on the Loch. Gliding atop the still waters, in a silent throng of tourists and thrill seekers. Taking each other's hands, the electric connection felt instantaneous and promised to last forever.

"Jules," She said simply.

"Roy," He replied, laughter in his heart.

They said no more, the comfort in this silence said more than any words need convey.

And two lovers, seeking monsters, they instead found each other.