The written loom

Some loves burn brighter just before they disappear.

The lake had always been magical, but no one knew except for the lovers and the creatures that lived in its waters. Paul and Talitha knew: every drop of water held a memory, every lily whispered prayers, every stream carried secrets.

And when the strangers set foot on its shores, they did what only the truest guardians would dare to do: they called upon the power that slept in its depths.

That night, they stood at the deepest part of the lake. The water shimmered beneath the moon, cold but strangely comforting. Their fingers were intertwined, not for warmth, but for courage.

From below, she rose: The Lady of the Lake ..

A beautiful woman with eyes like starlight and silver strands of waterweed crowning her head. Her voice was slow, echoing the sound of water passing over forgotten stones.

“Why have you called me, children of the water?”

“The strangers have come to take all that we love,” Talitha said, tears falling into the lake as though returning home.

“We want to protect the lake… and all it holds,” Paul added, his voice shaking like a prayer.

The Lady lifted her hands.. Frogs, snakes, and fish with moonlit scales swam in circles around them. Magic pulsed with every ripple.

“I will help you. But remember: magic always asks for a price.”

She dipped her fingers into the water, whispering spells in a forgotten tongue. The nets they had woven grew invisible and impenetrable. The trees thickened their bark. The wind learned to howl only when strangers approached.

But the price — The price would be everything..

“For every night the lake fights for you,” she said, “your hearts will grow heavier. For every weapon you forge, a piece of your love will vanish. Are you ready?”

The cabin.
The library.
The lake.
>Their memories.
>Their dreams.
>Their everything.

“We are ready,” they said.

And the Lady smiled with sorrow.

The Night of the Price.

Pain has no voice. Only echoes.

It was night, and the lake shimmered beneath a broken moon.. its reflection rippling, as if even the sky wept for what was about to be lost. The wind whispered through the trees, not like a lullaby, but like a dirge. The silence between Paul and Talitha was not empty. It was full…. full of everything they used to say and no longer could.

They sat on the shore, fingers intertwined. But even that touch, that once sacred, electric touch, had grown thin, like a thread fraying with every tide.

Her head rested on his shoulder. But her soul had begun to drift.

“Do you feel it too?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t trembling, it was quiet, too quiet, like something had already died inside her.

“I feel it,” he said, and it was the truth. It felt like someone had hollowed out his chest and left only a name inside — hers. His voice cracked. Not loudly, but like old wood breaking beneath weight it could no longer bear.

She turned to look at him. Her eyes were dry. Not because the pain was gone, but because it had become too familiar to cry over.

“I miss us,” she whispered.

And he broke.

He stood up so suddenly the birds scattered. He walked a few paces toward the trees and clenched his fists until his nails bled.

“I can’t remember,” he said, almost to himself. “The sound of your laugh. The way you used to breathe in your sleep. It’s all leaving me, one piece at a time.”

He struck the earth with his fist, again and again, until the dirt crumbled beneath him.
And still, he could not stop it.

Talitha closed her eyes. She remembered everything — too much. She remembered their first kiss like a fire in the dark. The scent of their wooden cabin, once filled with cinnamon and sleep. The softness in his gaze when he thought no one was watching.

But now, when he looked at her, it was with love — yes — but blurred love. Faded. Like a photograph touched too many times.

“If I wake up one day,” she said, “and I can no longer love you the way I do now…”

Paul knelt before her, forehead against her knees. His shoulders shook.

“I’ll love you for both of us,” he whispered. “Even if I’m the only one who remembers what we had… even if you forget me completely.”

There were no more spells. No more promises. Just the breaking of something sacred, and the unbearable choice to break it again the next night — and the next — for the sake of the lake.

The creatures of the water surfaced: frogs with mournful eyes, fish that circled them like silent witnesses. Even the Lady of the Lake, somewhere in the deep, must have wept that night, for this was the price she had warned them about.

And it was not just love they were losing.
It was the memory of love.

They lay beside each other, holding hands like lifelines. But something between them had shifted, not with anger — worse — with resignation.

The fire had not gone out.
But it flickered in shadows, unsure of its warmth.

And when dawn came, the lake was calm again — unbothered, beautiful, eternal.

Talitha and Paul remained sitting in silence, salt on their cheeks, breath shallow.
And the lake, in return, gave them nothing but a hush.

Not gratitude.
Not magic.
Just silence.

To be continued…
But silence is not peace. And loss is not an ending. Something ancient is waking, and it knows the shape of sorrow better than love ever could..