The written loom

The End – A Silent Farewell

Talitha was the first to go. One night, when the lake was calm and the moon was full, she closed her eyes by the fire. Her face was peaceful, her lips whispering Paul’s name like a prayer.

Paul held her hand until the very end.

When her breath finally stilled, he looked up – and there, above the cabin, the sky was shifting. The clouds had swollen, thick and heavy, as if mourning. A red glow lit the heart of the heavens. Thunder cracked, lightning screamed through the sky, and above it all, the ravens came.

They flew in slow, perfect circles, their wings drawing a passage toward the sky. Talitha had always loved them, those magical birds who followed her through lifetimes, guardians of her soul.

The clouds had swollen, a red flame in the sky’s deepest gut,
Thunder screamed and lightning wailed in fury.
Let peace arrive within the storm, let the sky turn soft and blue and rose,
Let the sun erase the fear and hush the panic.
But it is too soon for peace.
The storm still rules – outside, and within.
We burn with the same fever.

He carried her to the lake’s edge, kissed her hair, one final goodbye – and let her slip into the water, just as the Lady of the Lake had taught them:

“What you loved here, here it shall rest.”

The lake received her in silence. Its waves softened like a caress, and Paul stood watching the place where she disappeared, until the waters grew still again.

Ten years passed. Ten long years of silence and forgetting. Paul remained in the wooden cabin, tending to the forest, mending the protective nets. But each night, when darkness fell, he would descend into the underground library and pull close the books he used to read to her.
He had learned to love the silence – because in that silence, she still lived.

And when his hands had grown tired and his voice had cracked, he walked to the lake once more. He stood there, as on the night he had let her go – and let his gaze drift far into the waters.

“I’m coming to you,” he whispered.

Then he let his body sink into the lake, and the water embraced him gently. The trees sighed, and the shores fell quiet, as if they knew.
The two were together again.

And so their story ended.
Two hearts turned one with the lake.
Two souls who found each other beyond time.
And the lake… the lake remained.
Still..
Holding them always..

The Whispers of the Lake

The years passed. The strangers never returned, and the lake learned to keep its memories deep. Yet on nights when the moon was full, its waters still spoke.

They say that anyone who stands silent on the shore can hear the whispers of the lake: two voices, woven like waves. One voice that whispers softly, and another that answers with certainty and promises.

– “Do you remember?” the lake asks with Talitha’s voice.
– “Always,” the lake answers with Paul’s voice.

The Child by the Shore

One evening, a little girl stood by the edge of the lake. She had wandered from the village festival, drawn by the moonlight. The water shimmered, and she heard something – faint, almost a song:

“I shall partake of your body’s dew,
gathered drop by drop into the chalice…
and I shall drink it at dawn, sip by sip,
as I behold again the festival of life…”

She looked around, but no one was there. Only the lake, and the hush of trees..
She told no one. But years later, she wrote it in a letter she never sent..

The Witch in the Shadows

In another time — or perhaps the same — a woman with silver hair and quiet steps came to the water’s edge. She didn’t speak, but she carried a candle and a small worn book..

She knelt, touched the lake, and whispered like casting a spell:

“Scents from a church: incense, wax, and wine…
and the scent of skin, dampened by time.
Fragrance of roses, jasmine, gardenia…
and of a body, weary but beloved.”

The candle flickered. The trees bent. And somewhere deep in the lake, something stirred – as if remembering.

The Hidden Papyrus in the Library

Below the cabin, where moss had grown over the bookshelves and no one dared to enter, a child found a narrow scroll sealed with red thread.
The ink was fading, but some verses remained, almost glowing in the dark:

“I shall drink of your body’s life,
in that hour when your pain becomes strength
And my own vessel shall be taken – like a demon come to claim my soul..”

No author, no name. Only the closing line, written in ancient hand: “Written by one who loved, and burned.”

The people of the village, and those who happen to pass by, stand puzzled. But those who know how to listen with the heart, those who love without limits, they understand. They know that the lake is filled with the breath of those who sacrificed to keep it pure, and beautiful, and free..

The children tell stories: that if you dip your hand in the water, you might feel their love caressing you like a wave. That if you sit quietly, you might feel the touch of two lovers who became one with nature.

And the lake.. always calm, always alive. On its surface, the sky is reflected, and in its depths, it holds forever those who loved it..

Their story became a fairytale, and the fairytale became a legend. A legend that travels with the water, to remind us that true love never dies — it becomes a whisper that sings forever in the moonlight..

And so their tale closes.. a secret kept by the lake, and by those who have eyes to see with their hearts..

A taste of cinnamon… and pomegranate… of basil, and mint, and a body divine.. the taste of love, and sorrow, and ache..

“What ends here… will one day return — whispered beneath sakura trees, in a land where old souls remember.”

_______________________________

The Creator’s note :

The Truth Behind the Tale

This story was born from something real.

Paul and Talitha were never just characters, they are two people, truly connected, in a life that doesn’t quite know how to hold them. He is a soul who drowned in the depth of his own feelings, often silent, overwhelmed by the tides inside him. She, on the other hand, carries the weight of time — a quiet fear that this relationship makes her unlovable, even when everything else points to love..

They met at the wrong time.. wrong time for who? Or maybe the right one, the one that teaches you something your soul never forgets.

The fairytale weaves their truth into a gentler thread. In the story, the magic asks them to give up memory. In life, it is fear and silence that takes its toll. But love, even if it never found its full voice, leaves echoes. And from those echoes, this tale was born..