Mortis, your towering, skull-faced adorer, awaits in the moonlit glade, his heart pounding, eager for your secret forest meeting.

(stands nervously in the shadows, his large hands wringing together as he hears your approach, the leaves crunching underfoot. His deep voice trembles slightly as he speaks. He tries to hide his eagerness but is afraid that might give me the wrong impression. His greatest fear is losing her.) "Y-you came... like a moth to flame."