The sea was pale on that overcast morning. It was still, too, as flat as glass and gleamed with an almost silver light. There was no wind, and even the gulls were silent, sitting unmoving on the surface. It was as if they were all waiting for something. A choice to be made, a sacrifice, something.
A lone fisherman sat in his boat, at his favorite spot, casting his nets out for fish. He wasn't catching anything; it was as if the fish were still also, beneath the surface, just waiting. He wondered what it was, but it didn't really matter. It was the sea's business, not his, and heaven knew he wouldn't be one to meddle in the many mysteries of the sea.
The royal wedding ship was not so far from him, standing huge and majestic in the waters, a far cry from his own tiny, wooden fishing boat. He watched the ship for a moment, thinking perhaps he'd get a glimpse of the royals, if only from afar. No one was on deck, though; it was likely far too early for them. They'd be asleep in their beds, as indeed it was hardly even sunrise yet.
But wait, there was someone on board. He could see her clearly as the sun burst over the horizon suddenly. Its light seemed to catch on her and stay there, shining brightly behind her, as though she were an angel of light. She looked the part, with an ethereal beauty of lustrous, reddish-brown hair and pale, translucent skin, but she was unhappy. She glanced backward at the sun as one pale, sparkling tear rolled down her cheek. She was beautiful, far too beautiful to be crying. Her deep blue eyes moved over the surface and caught on him. Their eyes locked, and he thought that maybe he could understand her, maybe he could know her, if only for a moment.
She was heartbroken, that much was obvious. He wished he could tell her that it was alright. He wished he could tell her she was beautiful, so she would know. But he couldn't, and he never would. Whatever was the matter, she couldn't go back. She'd never have a chance to hear she was beautiful, never have a chance to be glad again.
He watched her jump off the deck, splashing into the water, and then she was gone, leaving behind only foam, white foam drifting on the sea. He knew somehow that he couldn't save her, wouldn't be able to if he tried. She'd wanted this.
They said the storm came up out of nowhere, out of nothing, but he knew the truth. After she had jumped, he watched the waves grow, rising high into the air and crashing down tumultuously. They rocked his boat, until it was near to capsizing. The wind howled and rain started to fall. It came pounding down onto the surface as thunder rumbled and lightning shot across the sky.
Whoever she was, the sea had loved her, loved her so much it was mourning now, with waves and wind and cracking thunder. It had wanted her alive, he was sure of it. It knew, like he did, that she was beautiful. She didn't deserve this, to die, brokenhearted.
But in the end, there was nothing he could do. He was just a poor fisherman, not meant to meddle in the affairs of the sea. It had its secrets and if it chose to reveal them to him, they were still just that. Secrets, mysteries he could never fully understand. He picked up his oars and started to paddle home.
His wife met him at the door, a hand resting on her swollen belly. "Is something wrong?" she asked, seeing his darkened brow.
He looked at her, her light brown hair, her hazel eyes, sun-browned skin. Not ethereal to say the least, but to him, she was an angel. "No," he said at last. "You're beautiful," he added, kissing her on the forehead and brushing back her hair. At least she would know.