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Updated: May 24, 2021

Ameline wept still...It had been a thousand years; and yet, she mourned. They had been young once. Once but youth--they had found each other, and they had what no one else had had. But, she learned, one moment simply would not stay put.

On the shore, the silent figure stood above her with its silver pitcher. Ameline held the water in her hands, its gift. And Ameline trembled as she cradled it; it was precious, she knew, but there would be much more like it. So, as the liquid trickled from between her fingers, she was not worried. Tomorrow, the faceless giver would oblige again.

As time would tell, Ameline was right in so supposing. The sun rose once more, she stretched out her hands, and, still another time, the water poured down to fill them.

Ameline looked before her--stared across the table at her king. As Guillaume turned his head, his golden crown glinted in the morning sun. And then Guillaume faced back, and returned Ameline's gaze. When their eyes met, a smile grew upon his countenance; and her face flushed and her heart fluttered. She simply lost her breath when he looked at her like that.

So, came the night, and when those hours had passed, the light rose once more from the horizon. Ameline glanced out to the sea, smelled her waters, and listened to her lulling roar. Again, Ameline lifted her arms; Ameline glanced inside the container her benefactor held. Within, was one remaining handful, and into Ameline's grasp the liquid fell.

Ameline shook anew, clutching her fingers together with desperation. And, still, the fluid fell away from her.

They buried Guillaume that day. One by one, the others left, but Ameline remained. Day and night she wept--as ages passed. And in her hands was only dust.

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