I know this well.

This timeless tale fills my eyes and heart with tears.

But I shall tell you of my sorrows.

My daughter.

I do not remember her name, for it seems so long ago.

The memories were much too painful.

An ache fills me.

Never ceasing.

Never.

Not to the day I breathe my last.

But I shall tell you.

My village.

My people.

We lived on an island.

Where we are, I do not know.

I have lived here sense my birth.

And never again will I try to swim from this island.

It fills my mouth with blood, the thought of this tale.

But I shall tell you.

My daughter. The age I was when I bore her. No more then a child myself.

I shall tell you.

Many times.

Many many times.

My beautiful daughter would swim in the waters.

The waters.

The broken glass that surrounds my island.

My broken island.

My broken heart.

I shall tell you.

She kicked and played with a ball.

One that once washed ashore.

I do not know where it came from.

I have never left my island.

And never shall I will.

I shall tell you.

She entered the black, murky water.

Ah, water.

I shall not use this term anymore. Not never again.

I shall give it a name.

One it deservers.

Death.

My daughter, my only love. My child, she entered death.

But, with no fear.

For she had done this so many times before, sense and before, she could even walk.

I weep bitterly when I think of her.

My love.

My daughter.

But I shall tell you.

She swam deeper and deeper.

Into death.

That was when, she was felt.

She was seen.

By the river dog.

Its wicked body, flat and smooth.

Its tail, a dagger.

Coaxed in death.

Death.

Death itself.

I fall to my brethren's feet when they speak of its name.

But I shall tell you.

It preyed upon her.

My daughter.

My loved one.

Piercing, stabbing, injecting.

Death.

Red.

Red.

Was all I saw.

When my daughter.

My loved one.

Leaped from the water, running to me.

Red.

Blood.

Death.

As I cradled my daughter.

My loved one.

For the last time.

Her beating stopped, her elegant, fragile life.

Slipped from my hands.

Her body, it stayed.

But my child was gone.

When she.

Died in my arms.

I knew.

I would never go to death again.

It shall have to come to me.

River dog.