VESSEL of the whitened depths, and the same wound the Lady of the weeping stone once wore in the red of the year. She appeareth as a wall let down in threads of white fire, the high snows still descending as meltwater through a forest burned to bone, and beneath them the dark water gathered into a single abyssal pool; the sky behind her boils to pitch while the clouds stand white as the wood. Her office is to receive what the mountain pays: the tears that fell crimson in the Rubedo are whitened here and given to the deep, and she keeps them. Two pale stones break her surface like teeth. The stone weeps still; only now it weeps downward, into the cold mouth that waits to drink it whole.
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