Once there was an oyster as dark and heavy as a coffin.
Seven fishermen hauled it up in the strongest of their nets and pried it open together. The pearl inside was even more luminous than the fairest maiden. It had no equal.
It was, in fact, of such size and bright luster that it rivaled the moon. As the pearl rolled off the ruffled edge of its shell, all of nature pursued it.
A pack of young wolves howled, rampaging through the village. Small waves grew to a tide that flooded the streets. Soldiers and pirates and statesmen ransacked homes and shops, seeking the pearl for the price and power it could garner. Ladies tripped on their skirts trying to catch it and capture its beauty, which is a power of its own. No lock or trap or claw could hold the pearl for more than a moment.
Yet, in the pursuit, the pearl became scratched, pitted and peeling. No longer a perfect orb, it began to roll more slowly. The mob of wild creatures and men did not slow, even as the pearl’s glow waned. By nightfall, the great pearl had been crushed into dust by the boots and tools and paws.
The moon, as constant as she was jealous, silently illuminated the near-infinite sands.
Sure?