“I am half-sick of shadows,” she said, and so are you.
Here’s her tower, here’s his fortress, and before them both parade the world. Like for you, there in the world of light, walled from the Abyss.
She stares, and he, at all the world before them. The bloody cup, the two lovers, neither fear nor joy. He on his throne, her at the loom, the mirror, the window.
Outside the fertile land, ungrasped.
Outside the desolation, unbroken.
Life parades before them, but they cannot live it.
Magic is displayed before them, but they cannot hold it.
To both the Lady of Shalott and to the Fisher King, a knight appears, and this is what the poets had tried to tell you.
The unasked question isn’t for you to pose. but for you to answer.
And only another can ask it.