Under the shimmering multitude she lay. The same souls that glimmered in the ebony-flushed indigo canopy above the earth reflected in her eyes. They were simply lost in her eyes.

The gleaming astral light softly exhaled around the moon and glittering jewls, and flowed slowly and gently around the sky, the crystaline amniotic fluid of the Star Queen, the Star Kindler. All souls are cradled in Her Sacred Wombe.

Lothiriel! What are you dreaming 'neath the web of night? The wind stirs her translucent garments of misty violet and her hair like the desert sand washed with red and rose and gold--so fitfully, and so carefully.

Her eyes burst in rays of crystal saphire and jade, laid gently over the earthy-brown sunflower petals cut like crystals--nay, formed so there, by the will of Arda's bones. They swirled and were frozen--a thundering whirlpool frozen in ice, frozen in time. And all this exists in the eyes of Lothiriel.

Fair lady who lays dreaming, whose eyes are open and mind is shut. But still we see in your orbs of glass. Lothiriel, Lothiriel, in your mourning countenance we see, that you would sprout wings and fly away. Dissapear into the west, on wings spun from light and sea-foam; wings of a gull.

Fair lady bound to space and time, but not forever! She who did not understand, who did not grasp the feeling in her marrow...the blood of the Fair Folk, welling scarlet in deep places, only to manifest itself in her confusion, and in her timeless eyes. A part that will be re-discovered, I deem, one day. And she will stand like a crystal glass filled with light. Light and crystal.