I entered the courtyard. I saw her. Phèdre was right. My mother’s beauty hadn’t dimmed. It had only changed again. Melisande lifted her head and gazed at me, tears brightening her glorious eyes, the deep blue hue of a twilit sea. There were faint lines etched at the corners, a few threads of bright silver strewn in her black hair. There was somewhat else, too. A well of sorrow and regret, a humanity that had been lacking. A goddess rendered mortal by time and compassion, all the more poignant for it.
