When Roland went away to the war, Ida died a little inside. She kept walking and talking, but some spark of humanity was snuffed out by the belief she would never see him again.
She watched the waterlilies bloom in the moat and wondered if her end might be among their entangling roots.
It was five years, in which she grew paper thin and brittle, before they heard the men were coming home.
Even Ida dared to hope.
But he didn’t come.
Instead they brought her his sword and his boots.
They found her next morning floating among the lilies.
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