Less than a season after the wedding, Lisski was not to be found. A daylong search for her produced the worst possible result: in an old abandoned mine her ragged body was discovered. Sadness, shock, and alarm swept through the village, for goblin marks had been found near her, and surely her savage death was their handiwork. Vengeance was vowed, and sentinels were placed near the shaft entry. Countless mourners tried to comfort Irasci with the only words they could say:

“You still have her love,” they told him “the ring she made for you.”

“Yes, the ring,” he answered as if numb. His face was gaunt, his eyes appeared lifeless. He seemed never again capable of knowing joy. Wisely his friends chose to keep watch over him that night. During his sleep he was heard to cry out in pain and sadness. But then, as if compelled by grief, and guilt, Irasci began to speak calmly and clearly, all the while asleep. His words told a tale of jealousy and growing anger. Every day he was stopped only to admire the ring—but no one ever asked about him, or the ring he had made. He thought he heard whispers that he was not good enough for so fine a piece. He heard laughter behind his back that his wife was better than he, and he was even less of a man for it. Rage overtook him, and with his own hands he had killed Lisski. Realizing his crime, he laid her out in the old mine, and made it look as if goblins had been responsible.