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Summary
Cheryl Blossom was, without a doubt, the reason why storms are always named after people. Antoinette Topaz loved her all the same. It was an abiding love, one that existed in quiet whispers of Sunday mornings as eyes met over a crossword puzzle and the latest gossip tabloids. It was a cup of tea after a jog that ended up with the jogger caught in an unexpected rainstorm, too quick and too eager to get home to shed saturated cotton from sticky flesh and shower away the remnants of Mother Nature’s ferocity. That cup of tea and those warm clothes that followed were solace. They were peace. They were home.
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OR, where Toni Topaz loves Cheryl Blossom more than anything and still can't seem to make their pieces fit.