Teens!

Unruly! Ungainly! Throbbing engines of passion wielding their desires with all the subtlety of a brick.

Just like these two. A boy; a girl; a park bench. All roving hands and trying to eat one another. And that moist sucking noise!

There are a few walkers at this time: they either ignore the pair and stare with a mixture of fascination and disgust.

Ingrid watches with open admiration. That is, she is squatting in the shadows nearby, curled up with a her bag and a smart phone. Today she is dressed gothic punk with her hair pulled in two directions, all in leather and lace and tartan patterned skirt. She is watching the couple, open mouthed.

Possibly drooling.

That rush of Glamour was too tempting for the hungry Darkling. She was expecting it to hit her hard but not quite with the direction and magnitude of a freight train careening off its tracks.

Pure. Something...

And all of a sudden its cut off. Ingrid coughs and moves her suddenly dry lips.

The girl is looking at her with shock; the boy with startled horror, a dash of lust, sense of protection and a heap of embarrassment. The girl squeaks and recoils (yet cuddles into the boy).

"Fucking perv. You got no decency. Come on, Sal." The boy is hauling ass, drawing his girlfriend into an oh so protective embrace. And hurrying off.

Girl finds her courage now. "Freak!"

Delicious moment when Ingrid wonders if the Mask has slipped.

Smiling waspishly, the Darkling follows behind a few minutes later.