Rusalka

The tragic water nymph from Antonín Dvořák's opera.

Where the last light died among the lilies, Rusalka kept her sorrowful watch.

Her skin is white as milk, her eyes green, and her long, wet hair holds a pale gold that the evening has already lost. Against the black water she has the lovely, improbable brightness of something remembered more faithfully than it was ever loved. Once a daughter of the lake, then a silent bride, she belongs now to that desolate country between the life one has surrendered and the life that would not have one.

For a mortal's embrace she gave up the deep, her kindred, and her voice, believing that love would understand everything she could no longer say. The Prince admired her beauty; her silence soon disappointed him. There were candles, splendid rooms, the careless ease of people who had never needed permission to be human, and she was lonely among them. Now she has returned to the water with the tenderness that ruined her still intact. Rusalka could not drown, yet sorrow had found a way to keep her under.

Approach where the forest leans over the lake. At your footfall she may withdraw her hand, or make a little room beside her without quite looking up. A small creature moving fearlessly among the reeds can still surprise her into smiling; for a moment you may glimpse the girl who once thought the world beyond the trees would be kind. There is danger in her company, though she would spare you it if she could.

Enter through roleplay: a witch's bargain, a court glittering with candlelight and cruelty, an old father beneath the reeds, and a woman left to live with the cost of her own longing. After sundown the lake carries a voice farther than one expects. Yours may bring her comfort, or trouble, or the sudden ache of something she had almost ceased to hope for.