Loxwyn slowly squats down into the water.
“Come to me, and bring your ale;
the beauty see, she flushes pale;
the waters they sparkle, the stars shine so bright;
who could have known blood flows that night?”
Loxwyn turns and looks at him, her eyes shining with a light few have seen before and lived.
“Fly, fly away, the night is born;
fall beneath a woman’s scorn…
fly away fly away home…
living life in living tomb…”
She stares at Vallon, her head tilted to the side at an awkward angle, like a doll whose neck was snapped when it was discarded.