You can hear how the sorceress found her beside the river, where each day her violin sang melodies for the noblest man in the land.  Furious the jealous hag spat forth a curse of spite, making the lady and her instrument one, and hurled her into the slow lucid depth forever.

The glassy aquamarine revealed no face but his own to her lost prince.  Till he died, beard white, he came to the pond each morning and listened to the treetops, and the lady of the silver strings.

Story by Tim Allnatt