[Feanor of the Peredhil]

For many days and nights chance had held her high, delivering her from death, keeping her in safe company, guarded carefully within cloud castles of the mind, armed with winged golden archers stocked with flaming arrows, and tall swordsmen clad in silver mail to keep her and to guide her from harm's way, and she seemed safe from all that was ill in this village. But this evening came and she knew her priviledge had expired, for now it was not in the stars to hold her destiny but in the selves around her. And the selves had chosen.

And a blade sliced over soft stone, gleaming silver in the last light of day, and she looked at it sadly, and she spoke to the stars, and to any voice who could hear, "My love, my dearest love, your sacrifice bought me only few more days, fleeting days, and full of fear, but for it, my only, my dearest, I thank you."

And the sword cut through the air and met with her and she fell to the village, and lay pale upon the ground, and blood spilled gently from her neck around her severed head until it seemed to form a halo, and the villagers looked toward each other with alarm, for they had seemed so sure, and they were filled with regret, for it was only for the Dark Lady’s issues had they filed their minds; for the gracious Diamond had they murdered; put rancors in the vessel of their peace only for her; and their Eternal Jewel was given to the common enemy of man.