She was fragile, skin almost transparent. Her long, snow-white hair moved with the wind like wispy clouds tickling the face of the moon.

He knew that he should not follow no matter how beguiling her blue shadowed eyes. He should have known better than to be caught by one of the Fae.

The bedraggled hem of her gown, bedaubed by the dew on the grass, traced a pattern of death over the face of the meadow. He should not, would not follow but she had trapped him in a web of desire and sucked out his soul through his eyes.