Each day, she came out from behind her rock and drank the sea. She filled her monstrous gullet, trying to lower the water just enough…
More water would always rush in, and the salt would choke her, and she would retreat into her hole and weep at the gods’ cruelty.
But every night as the moon rose over the strait, she’d hear a chorus of wolves howling, and peek out to see her beloved perched on the opposite shore.
One of Scylla’s wolf heads would nod to her, and Charybdis would wave a flipper back, and her resolve would be renewed.