She lived a fabled life and a cautionary tale, a princess of irreducible splendor yet one who bore testimony to the commonality of loneliness and heartbreak. On the day 16 years ago that Charles, the Prince of Wales, married Lady Diana Spencer, the Archbishop of Canterbury declared, here is "the stuff of which fairy tales are made." That fairy tale ended even before their divorce was announced, a love story that was false, it was shown, from the very beginning. Diana emerged scathed, but she had other causes to tend to--her sons, the sick, the war-ravaged, her own heart. The marriage was dead, but long live the princess.

And now she is gone.

With her go the hopes of a world that had turned her life into part of its own projected biography, a fragile hope for a happy-ever-after even in the face of adversity. To many, her struggles blended into the hobbling steps of this 20th century as it limped toward some vague promise of millennium. The crash in Paris that took her life and that of her rich playboy friend Emad ("Dodi") al Fayed is a tragedy so overpowering that it becomes a torrent of feelings. There is no clear significance. There is only loss.

Beyond that there is guilt--that our desire for her was so strong that it set birds of prey to stalk her. Paparazzi. Even the word has claws.

And now she is gone.