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It wasn't bad - maybe a 7 out of 10 as dates go. Nice. Friendly. No magic. It was not what either of them was looking for, but it was a pleasant evening nonetheless and they were well-mannered with each other. "Rare enough to count," the Lady thought quietly to herself (feeling a melancholy kind of appreciation as they parted company). Long forgotten was the hominid she almost stabbed with her car keys or the reprobate who couldn't keep their hands to themselves and got a drink in the lap to put out their fire. The Lady had invited a couple of potentials back to her home and they had marveled. "Did you make these? These are museum quality; stunning!" said the one she thought a tremendous find (who turned out to be married). "You got a lot of craft stuff," said the other, who was shown the exit mere seconds afterwards. "I do indeed have a lot of ... craft stuff," the Lady whispered now, changing into her robe. She brought a small pot of tea into the studio with her, and stepped up onto the platform to face the mirror while at the loom. Tonight, she would see and she would weave. Shalott was several lifetimes away, but some things never changed (while others did). One ridiculous cold and watery death down, the Lady had sworn to not make certain mistakes twice.

(Art by William Holman Hunt)