The morning the sea turned to glass, Edda woke to total silence. No waves, no birds. From her window the whole harbor looked frozen smooth and shining. She sat at her desk and, almost without thinking, dipped her pen and inked a brand-new coastline onto a blank chart: cliffs, a bay, a row of sharp rocks. None of it was real. By the time the ink dried, a fisherman was pounding on her door, shouting that ships were sailing toward land that had never been there before.

Edda stared at her own pen. If her drawing had made this coast real, maybe she could un-make it. She flipped to a fresh page, hands shaking, and tried to draw open water where the rocks now were — to erase the danger before any ship reached it.

Nothing happened. The rocks stayed solid no matter how hard she drew over them. This time, erasing just wouldn't take. Edda realized that if she wanted to save the ships, she would have to add something new, not rub something out. She stared at the chart, thinking fast.

Edda drew a long pier reaching out from the rocks toward the ships, with bright flags along it. The captains spotted the pier and steered for it instead of the cliffs. They tied up safely, climbed onto the dock Edda had imagined, and walked into town asking who their clever new harbor-master was.