He once more viewed the room, taking note of the dribbles and splatters of the pink fluid, leading from the sopping wet bed over to his current location, where a large pool had formed. He took a look at his fur, for the first time noticing the streaks making there way down his sides from his back, and the sticky feeling about where the queen’s muzzle had been.
 
There was pink. Everywhere he looked he saw pink. Pink was love processed and made tangible by changelings. The only changeling in the room right now was the queen. The only source of the love was him.
 
“Oh my god.”