Three

A marriage so lost to age once ruled over all existence.

Legend of sun and moon destined to be one.

Was the very thought ludicrous?

Once again, when July ran out of hidden slumber, pulling with her all aches of losses and jutting agony, she laughed.

She pulled forth her scarred hands, damaged, but no less steady, and caressed the well as no one else might.

July held in her clutches a power even the well could not possess.

But she was greedy.

She was fleeting.

July put on the earth a troublesome weight that was never explained, never spoken, but always felt.

The well could not feel its jealousy over the wail of its children.

When July came, so many wished to be set free. And from July's hand, only a few, colorless and shapeless, might fall.

The well was not safe from July's gift of suffering, for it could not grant wishes all at once. And in its half full cavern, only a few were still at play, no longer harmful, no longer unsatisfied.

July could pick out as she wished. She was almost an angel in her moments of giving.

She, who gave so little.

The well would shudder, feel the hand which punctured so well. The shapeless few would drop, now silent, now reverent, now thankful to return to the well's clutches.

They had gained so much in their timeless style, felt what had once been taken so thoughtlessly, and knew the well had granted such.

They would place their hands on cool stone, foreheads to higher, smoother planes, and pray for the shimmering existence from which they learned. Pray for their lost brothers and sisters who sought a freedom they did not need.

The well was forgiving, so generous to its children.

The few would scorn the clawing siblings for their treacherous askings.

They wonder how they had ever thought of their wait as an imprisonment. The well never took more than it needed, never asked for its own wants. The well was a guardian, and they had never felt so secure.

But July shook the very ground the well had made a home out of, and the inexperienced children, who knew no hurt but knew too much of want, crawled from the well, who was tilted and uncertain.

And the searching children let July lead them away.