“Lake! What is wrong?” said the water-sprite.

“I miss Narcissus.”

The river-sprite did not understand this. “You slayed him! You took the vain fool into you and drowned him.”

The level of the lake sank, droplets of its water climbing upwards onto the rocky walls, where it would seep up until it rose into the sky. The river-sprite saw this rising rain and knew that the lake was weeping. It had been weeping all summer.

“I drowned Narcissus because I have to be a lake. But I loved Narcissus. Within his eyes, I saw my own surface.”