The towers of the silvery city of Wyndimere stood reflected in the
lake of a blue so deeply brilliant that it outshone the sun, and at
night the stars deep in its water made pale their image in the night sky.
In the highest pinnacle dwelt a princess whose fair face and beauty
were second only to her innate wisdom.  But though she was young, her
heart was taken by a man she never met, the captain of her white
fleet, who voyaged home to take her hand.  

On the way to the silver
city, he spied a green bottle floating in the azure waters.  In the
crisp daylight, he recalled the ancient legends of notes floating in
bottles, and, as a sign, at that very moment the sun glinted from the
bottle.  Giving the helm to his second, the captain embarked alone on a
rowboat for the bottle, but coming to it, he saw that it contained naught
but a hermit crab and some sand.  He turned to row back to the ship,
but a fog had engulfed the lake and he could not even see the
fleet.  The waters of the ever placid lake grew choppy and dark, with
forboding gray vortices, and the captain was severed from his fleet.
A wave capsized the boat plunged him in the cool waters. 
The captain let the darkness take him and fell out of conciousness.

He awoke on the shores of Wyndimere, the bottle clutched in his hand, 
but all had changed.  Every face
he passed was painted with sorrow, and though they did not recognize
him drenched in brine and seaweed, the pain of his shame he saw in
every angry eye.  The town square was deserted, filled with the
discarded trappings of a sad celebration which was meant to be of
love.  But all of the trumpets had blown, and he had not answered, and
now he had cast himself out of all light and chance for love.
Returning to the waters, he found an abandoned rowboat crafted of
driftwood, and with nothing other than his clothes, he bore off into
the sea.

Everywhere he went, he was known, not for who he was, but for the
shadow of his abandonment of she who was adored by all.  That
weight he bore with steady eyes, empty of meaning, and all who saw
those eyes feared him for his glaring defiance of all that anyone held dear.

When his face had weathered beyond recognition and he grew grizzled,
he took up the job of a porter for an inn in an outlying province.
By shear chance it was, that province the princess chose for
viewing the festival of falling stars.  She came into the inn, and
though his face had changed, she recognized him instantly and bid her
train depart so that she might speak to him alone.  The fear and
shame rose in his heart when he saw her, but only four words did she
speak:  "I still love you."

"I cannot hear what you say," said the man, "And I am weary."

"Then I wish you a sound rest so that your weariness parts," said the
princess, "And I hope only that you will, seeing me here now, take
that chance that before never passed."

Said the man:
"it is not night that will clear that from my brow
and...i wonder?
has that chapter already been penned?
and is there anything left to do
than walk with my head high
and take pride in my desolate ignomony
or to pass away
out of time
and fall
from living memory?
 
it is too bad you love me.  i am sorry for that
and i don't know what to do

but what difference does it make?
it is nothing
but the whistle of wind
through the leaves."

The princess bowed politely, saying nothing, and went to her room.

Late into the night, the man
tended the fireplace, drowning his own sorrows in the bitterest of
house ales until that too drew no pleasure, and then he sat in silence
for hours watching the fire die down.  It was only on appearance of
the star of morning that he knew his heart, and he wept.  The bottle
he had kept all of these years to fill with his shame.  Penning a
note, he sat it before the princess's door, and walked out to vanish
again, but no longer could hold his eyes to those of others.

He went to the woods to disappear, but standing in the clearing was
the princess, waiting for the meteor shower.  "It is said," said she,
"That he who spies the first shooting star shall get his wish."

Looking up, a star fell, and then the sky was filled with raining
light.  Not even knowing his own thoughts, he took her and kissed her
lips, holding her tight against him.

"That is my wish," he said.

"Ancient legends speak of notes in bottles," said the princess, "But I
do not believe in such things.  What would such a note read?"

"Only that I was unworthy of you," said the man.

"Your heart is of the sea," said the princess, "And mine is of the
sky.  But by chance of fate we share a world together.  Let us not
further spend the hours on bad poetry."