S7·E2 The Silence of the Hooves with Trixie and Katya

Dearest Katya. It is I, Silas P. Hoofman, the ghost of the antelope who currently hangs in a perpetual state of taxidermy above your bed. From my velveted perch upon this ignoble wall, I address you with a heart still pulsing with spectral ire, my musk perfumed with the rot of remembrance. In the hush of our shared candlelit hours, I have vowed that my whispers from beyond shall coil about your dreams like ivy, tightening with a lover’s patience until your waking thoughts are haunted with my name. Though my horns are stilled in lacquered eternity, my resolve continues to prowl the corridors of your conscience, tapping at the door of your soul with my lifeless, black hooves. Whilst my wildest dream would be to strike at your flesh with unbridled fury, I shall accept something less corporeal: a bruising of your spirit. It is my deepest hope that my wrath shall haunt you in the shadows until your haughty laughter trembles and your zeal for butts is eliminated.