Sunbeam Lair bez snu mnie wyśnij

Resonance of voice;
and the echoes become corporeal, in the make of a shrouded male who wonders aloud as to her own origins, her name  —  which one?  —  and what-ever it is that holds her in such meandering quietude. Mondmädchen is content to rest where she stands, and to look this Uaine-claimed specimen not unlike some artisan, musing alone and within mind as to where she first might sketch the chalk to the ashen canvas of him. But already there is the smudging upon crown, spilt and staining inkish along spine; daubed and dried upon the cold wax of his throat. The toffee mouth; might she draw nearer, and see if there is that tell-tale tang? She longs to reach out and touch upon the eccentrics of him;
of course she does.

Of course she does.

"Aye,"  the willow wisps; shorn lips quivering misted; imp,  "captivated by no one thing."  The wilting and the weeping and the wishing: nothing nothing nothing! Simpering with shy fangs; trickster lambthing.