There, in the village, they hid her away in a well-adorned room with no windows and only a small door that opened with a clack clack to retrieve the jewels that would have collected. For the woman wept bitterly in her imprisonment. She longed for her lover, she longed for the reassuring touch of the wind, and yet neither seemed to miss her for very long. For nights turned to days turned to weeks.
When the woman no longer wept so bitterly, the villagers grew angry. Even angrier still when an over abundance of the river water killed their crop and the animals soon got so fat that the hungry wolves from a near by mountain could pick them off easily. "All she is good for is that retched crying of hers, and even then with so many of these, who would believe them to be so valuable!" they would cry in frustration.
Until one day, it was the village's decision to do away with this fair maiden who they had treated so kindly when she had first arrived. "We have profited from her mystical virtue but should another village discover this, they will surely steal her away all the same," was their reason. The pale woman did not seem to care for these sentiments, for it was her own belief that she had ceased to exist that morning she had been taken as captive.