I suppose it's true love. The bastard was well gone when I entered, slumped at his post, carrot-standard slipping in his grip. Lidlessly staring at the glass Korean dragon perched on the dresser opposite."It's not meant to be. She's royalty. You're rumpled Americana. Besides she's got centuries on you, the coy bitch."
"We'll find a way."
"Come to your senses, Creepy. I've got a lovely Lybian bird-maiden preening on the bookcase, aiming no higher than modest local folklore. Much more your speed."
"I've got it under control. Go away."
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