Witch's Marsh well you may be a lover, but you ain't no dancer

Fuck, said Pygmalion, with feeling.

It all came back to this bloody marsh, didn't it? The place where he'd bonded with Bhediya. Where Uaine Gorsedd had initially meant to settle. This dank, dark, ugly place. And he had managed to befoul it further.

He hadn't meant to—not really. It was just that. . .this woman wasn't her. None of them had been. None of them could replace Bhediya. Anger had taken over, he'd blacked out—

Only to come to his senses and realize what he'd done. This, though. . .this was too much. Too close to home. Too close to the mountain where his lover had dealt the cruelest blow.

Pygmalion sucked in a breath, feeling himself begin to hyperventilate. He took a step back, then another, splashing through the sucking mud. He gritted his teeth, spun around, began to kick dirty snow upon the body. And then began to kick the body.

Goddamn it, you bitch, he sobbed, the stone-cold visage below replaced with a face not currently present. Why'd you do this to me, you beautiful, horrible bitch. . .?