like a sylvan entropically defined calamity

The hero is being punished, much as he tends to be on Tuesdays made of cream cheese. It isn't through the fault of anyone, nor of anything, but, as is the way of the world, the pulchra puella melts the hero's id. That her easy giggle and generous ways are warming to everyone makes the punishment no more or less, but evading corruption as a goal is burying the benign. Capturing the vapid is an ignominious but approachable method of obfuscating the situation, rendering asunder all but the least noticed. I should know.