He'd have loved to watch her forever.
He is enthralled by the aura of muted grace about her, in her eyes and voice and the way she moves, and intricately choreographed dance without steps. It draws him in, entrances, and he finds himself moving and accommodating as it suits her.
And then she is gone, her light snuffed as quickly as a candle doused in saltwater, and he is left stumbling without her rhythm.
(She is graceful even in death, he learns, as he dips her below and she glides to the bottom of the sea, arms outstretched as if inviting him to join her in this last dance.)