"I'm half-sick of shadows, said the Lady of Shalott."
As a teenager, I loved Tennyson's The Lady Of Shalott, and all things Arthuriana.
The Lady lived in an island castle which flowed into Camelot. She had a mysterious curse and she had to continually weave on her loom. As she looked into her mirror, she realized that the "shadows of the world" were a sad substitution for looking at the "real world", which certainly resonated with me. When she saw Lancelot, she stopped weaving, looked out the window at Camelot, causing the curse. She left the tower and floated down the river to Camelot; she died before reaching Camelot. Lancelot thought her to be lovely.
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