Fairspell Meadow Dead in wonderland

Like a magnet to its partner, an arrow to his source, he moved forward. She was older than his mother—older than Towhee, even! He ought not. . .

And yet, the young Casanova was nosing at her cheek, her shoulder, awash in the scent of her.

Kill be damned. Maybe they'd get a bite afterwards.

I. . .don't know why I keep finding you ladies like this, he admitted, and choked back a hysterical laugh. It was as if fate held him in its arms, directing him where it may.