This is not the gentle stride of the white Faerie steed of the willowy Faerie Queen and her flower Faerie attendants, but the mania of dark Fae, the Winter Fae and their Horned God.
You know, my horned god -- oh, how you know! -- that this Witch hates to be vulnerable, so hear me when I whisper these words, see the rivulets of reluctant tears on my cheeks, taste the bitter blood on my chin, drink in the scent of my surrender, and feel my heart-drum quickening: I need you. ...