Pearl-white arches rose high above us, carved from coral and mother-of-pearl, open to the sea breeze. Lanterns of crystal and silver swayed upon chains, their light scattering across the floor as though the stars themselves had been gathered into the hall. The floor beneath shimmered with inlaid shells, pale as moonlight, while the walls sang with the echoes of harp and flute, their music woven with the soft chime of bells.

Through the open arches, I could glimpse the harbor—swan-ships at rest, their lanterns mirrored in the black water, sails furled like folded wings. The scent of salt and night-blooming flowers drifted inward, blending with the sweetness of wine and polished cedar. The whole of Alqualondë seemed to breathe with beauty, as though the sea itself had laid its treasures at our feet.

I moved among courtiers in gowns of seafoam silk and silver-threaded velvet, laughter rising like gulls upon the wind. Pearls glimmered at throats, jewels caught fire in the light, yet none of it moved me. It was beauty I had known all my years.

And then she appeared.

I did not know her name. I had never seen her face. Yet when she stepped through the archway, the air shifted. The music seemed to hush around her, as though listening. My gaze fixed, unbidden, and I felt the sudden pull of tide within my chest.

She was no jewel I could recall, no kin I could place—yet the hall bent subtly toward her presence, as if she carried the gravity of the moon itself. Light caught in her hair, lantern-glow spilling like water over stone, and I could not look away.

Who was she, to command the hall without a word?

I had stood amid pearls and ships, songs and lanterns, for long years of peace and sorrow. Yet in that instant, every treasure of Alqualondë paled. My heart beat quick and strange, like a ship caught in sudden current.

Strange, to be undone by a stranger. Stranger still, to feel as though I had waited all my life for the moment her shadow fell upon my shore.