Deepwood Weald fṇðṇ

This saccharine frailty towards beastly beguilment; how intimately she had come to know what aspects were slavered after! It had since been moons that she had cast down her own desecrator, and seasons since she had brought another huntsman to his finality. Both with aid—
( she should have never known )
—yet, admission of Nightwalker was given, and here the stricken brought the old quivering into her figure; drudged up from the marrow of old maladies. Yes, feigning a feeble fascination as she stept, timid and tentative towards that looming skull.

And when she gave pause at the next telling, she commits that scent close to her breast; 
but the specter of a simper only crescented the thin scythe of her shorn lips evermore. Oh, she must lie her ears down upon her ruff; she must cant her head, must shoulder closer—! and then draw away, swift; all abashed, poutful, pitiful, doe-eyed ignorance.

"Forgive me. I,"  an affrighted flush blooming beneath ruined cheek,  "I had no knowledge that there was another claim so near."  Whet her lips, atremble, yes—  "I am r-rather acquainted with z-ze Moonspear."

Be sweet and stupid and soft and sly,
churred the faerie within her breast.