Only beside her body can he sleep. He feels the weight of her, a feather made of granite that he clings to in his black sea.

Sometimes she must sing to him. Soft, a lute played far away, so quiet only he can hear her.

I'll never see you dance again, he says.

It is all right, she answers. For I will never dance again.

And he believes her. He knows what she is saying is the truth.