"On the foam-covered sea-weeds, lay eleven white swan feathers, which she gathered up and placed together. Drops of water lay upon them; whether they were dew-drops or tears no one could say."- from The Wild Swans
It's not fair, Hans Christian Andersen! Why must your beautiful prose always tell of heartbreak and sorrow? Why do your words pierce me, even as a single word from the princess would pierce the hearts of her 11 enchanted brothers?