I turned back to face the woman whose voice seemed to be floating to me not from across a room but from across an ocean.

“The knowledge of the crossing has all but disappeared,” she continued. “And yet, in classical times, it was known to many peoples. The myths and legends have survived—all those stories of metamorphosis are vestiges of a time when the practice of crossing was commonplace.”

“Stop, I cannot bear any more of this nonsense!” I turned away again to regain my composure. “Madame Édmonde, my sanity is barely hanging by a thread as it is. Do you wish me to slip into madness once and for all?”

“Charles, you used to call me your Scheherazade. Do you remember what it was that Scheherazade did?”

“She told the king a story every night to stop him from executing her, as he had all his previous brides.”

“The difference between Scheherazade and me is that my stories were not intended to save my life but to save yours. To prepare you for your next crossing.”

“You misunderstand me. I am not afraid of death. In fact, I long for it.”

“Charles, you cannot die. You must return with me.”

“Return where?”

“To the island.”

At the mention of the word “island,” my vision blurred and I felt a hot teardrop inexplicably creep down my cheek. I approached Édmonde and slowly lowered myself down beside her. Her bearing was so still it was impossible to divine what she was feeling behind her veil. “Oh, Jeanne,” I whispered, taking Édmonde’s hand in mine and kissing it, “how I have missed you! There is not a day that goes by…”

“Charles, please,” she whispered, withdrawing her hand. “I am no longer Jeanne. I am Édmonde.”

I reached for her veil and lifted it slowly. Before me was revealed that hideous face I’d seen the previous evening. Had an old Flemish master painted the visage of Death itself, he would scarcely have found a better model. Yet I did not feel the revulsion that had taken ahold of me before, but instead detected the stirrings of an old affection.

“I was Jeanne once,” spoke those blighted, shriveled lips. “I was beautiful once. But I am beautiful no longer. In my ugliness I have discovered my freedom. And now I am offering you yours. I have come to Brussels specifically for this task. I have rented these lodgings with the sole task of finding you and offering you another crossing. Believe me, Charles, believe and trust me. I will arrange another crossing for you. A crossing with someone who is young and strong. Then, together, we will return to the island. And somehow, we will find a way to repair the damage we have done.”

Go here.

A Suitable Candidate