Stormy, named for a tempest that never arrived, grew up keenly aware of her own contradiction: Her spirit, as unruly as the oceans she could see only in etchings, was completely at odds with her placid surroundings.
By the time she reached twenty, she had cycled through every occupation respectable for a woman of her time. She was a nanny twice over, only to find the children more interested in teaching her how to climb trees than the other way around.
She needed a way out.
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