The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver glow on the deserted beach. Dean Cromwell, his guitar now silent, sat alone on the cool sand, nursing a drink.

As the night's embrace deepened, a figure emerged from the shadows. She approached the musician, the hem of her dress brushing the sand. Dean's sharp eyes met hers, scanning her attire with a raised brow.

"The beach isn't a place for a fairy tale princess," he remarked dryly, taking a sip of his drink. The dim light caught the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "I already got laid by someone tonight, so you can just go on home now.”