All the good stuff belongs to Henson & Co.

Love hurts.

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3: Beautiful Owl

He sat her down upon the bed and taking hold of her shoulders, gently pushed her down into the mass of pillows. She met his gaze and smiled back into his strange eyes. He bent and kissed her with cheerful abandon, his fluffy mop of soft blond hair tumbling down over his shoulders and spilling onto her chest. She wrapped her hands around him and kissed him back with purposeful intent. She paused only to look into his laughing face and pet his soft hair.

They were lying in a drift of soft white and tan feathers. The downy plumage was scattered across the bed, beautiful and delicate, rising up and dreamily floating above them at their slightest movement. She lazily fanned the air, swirling the feathers aloft.

"He's such a silly romantic," she thought indulgently.

Her gaze caught and dismissed a pinpoint of red on an ethereal white quill. Then she saw another red-tipped, soft and lovely, golden hued feather. She forgot it when he kissed her again.

Much later, as she lay with her head on his damp shoulder, she saw the tiny red pockmarked wounds on his throat, chest and stomach.