The pale green of her eyes seem to burn against the gray skin. Winter is absolutely insulting against her skin as she walks to the meadow for the only reason of needing nourishment. A flat, annoyed line replaces smile that usually flirts upon her tapered lips. The wind was relentless today and Romantica groans whenever it decides to take a nasty lick against her hide.

The meadow is rather empty as it always is in the winter. A few horses lingered for the same reason that Romy does but there is further disappointment in the lack of any grass. Lids fall over the sea green eyes as the granite dappled mare takes a moment to calm herself and accept that winter is truly a selfish bastard. With a shiver in her walk, she moves to return to the sanctuary of thick pine trees that lines the meadow. Perhaps she could dig up some acorns or grass under the blanket of needles. 

Limbs pick their way delicately through the ankle deep snow, each footfall that of a practiced ballerina. Romy had no intention of slipping and freezing to death today.

No way, Jose.

Like the bitter tang of a smokey Cabernet on a cold winter night, he is biting and comforting in all the same breath. His scent is like spiced dates, exotic and intoxicating but the gray mare does not realize it. His cologne is seducing though Romy does not know who is the possessor. How achingly long had it been since she has felt a hot mouth desperately seeking her skin? Lids close as a primal groan creeps from between her parted lips. She must be finally becoming delirious with her hunger.

The trees above form a canopy that protects her from the fall of thick snowflakes. Romantica does not see the press of pine needles nor does she care. This was a lovely (possibly delirious) dream and Romy full intended to let herself continue without interruption. The touch of a cloaked figure against her hip and the caress of something so light that it was almost missed, makes her shiver, but not from the cold. The slow curve of her lips grow as she lifts the long sooty lashes to reveal the emerald depths of her eyes. Lobes barely catch the voice of -someone- and breaking the trance. "Hello? Her voice is still a velvety purr as though she were waking from slumber. Limbs move the woman around, hips shifting as she looks over either shoulder with growing suspicion. "Who are you?" Romy does not deny the still tingling places she was kissed. She does not deny the pleasure she derived from the keeper of the voice, the unseen ghost. A coy smirk touches her lips as she is unsure if there was even a voice at all or perhaps she is truly slipping into madness.