He was a passionate cock, a fiery lover. She was an It girl. It was a gold mine for the tabloids. His nectar was sweet and spicy, his taste so succulent, but she paid a bitter price. He had swooped in, sweeping her off of her hooves, only to all too soon fly away clutching her heart. Now she was angry, and so she did what most scorned pop divas do: she wrote a song. He had ignited a spark within her chest that remained even after he was gone. And from that ember, with a husky roar, she soared.