Narcissus finally drowns, comes too close to the water one day and instead of kissing his own reflection and drinking, as he says, the sweet nectar from the kiss of this gorgeous guy (this gorgeous sky, gorgeous sky) sucks in a bit of rank lakewater, burbles around in it, and falls in, choking. Echo can't repeat the sounds, not because they are so horrible but because they're just out of her comprehension and vocal range, and she watches the lovely marble-white skin of him sink into the weeds and realizes she finally has her own voice back. No more of that nonsense, then, of reflecting back on his own beauty and begging him to enjoy her body. She barely knows what to do with such freedom. She can see his fingers still fluttering at the surface, not waving but drowning, probably some future lilypad porquoi, but she super doesn't care, and even the knowledge that he will go on with an underwater life, pulling in sweeter and probably younger naiads with what looks like a sorrow they can heal but will turn out to be an excuse to talk about himself forever is no longer her concern. Echo is, finally, too old for this shit.