" No one knows who made the swans, did you know that?" Massimo said this looking out over the water.
Niamh felt er heart rate pick up.
"Beautiful, aren't they? I wonder who did make them and why. They must have seen real swans to capture them so well don't you think?" He paused to look at Niamh as he always did. As though he still expected her to answer. Niamh raked on.
"I suppose there aren't any swans left at all now," Massimo mused.
No, all gone now. Gone like the lake. Gone like the farm. Gone like my brothers. Grief tore at Niamh.

'A Lamentation of Swans "

― J.A. Ironside , A Seeming Glass: a Collection of Reflected Tales