From Ovid's "Metamorphoses", Book V:

But Cyane, heartbroken at the rape
Of Proserpine and at her pool's outrage,
In silence carried in her heart a wound
Beyond consoling, and in endless tears
She wasted all away. Into the pool -
Her pool and she but now its deity -
She spread dissolved. You might have seen her limbs
Soften, her bones begin to bend, her nails
Losing their hardness. All the slenderest parts,
Her wave-blue hair, her fingers, legs and feet
Were liquid first; the change is slight and short
From delicate limbs to chilly water. Next
Her shoulders, back and sides and breast dissolved
In slender rivulets and disappeared,
And last, in place of warm and living blood,
Water flows in along her wasted veins
And nothing now that you cold grasp remains.