Northstar Vale tequila mockingbird

There is something about the smile that spread across the fae's face that drew Andromaque in, made her take a few steps closer, shoulders brushing and she revels in the feeling of flesh on flesh for the brief moment that it lasts before it's lost again and she found herself longing for it, but her awkwardness -- can we call it inexperience, instead? -- keeps her steady, trembling where she stood. 

"They all burned." The words slip out -- the truth that she had ignored for so long. Consumed by forest fire, all that's left of them ash and charred bones now bleached by the sun, flesh melted away, devoured. There's something about remembering the fire that makes her feel more alive, metaphorical flames licking her pelt and she noticed the making of the fae -- her curves, softness, the way pale fur glows in light filtered through cloud-cover cataracts -- even more. Let me have a taste! Longing in her eyes, not bothering to hide the fact that she was looking her up and down.