Inspired by the music of Carmina Burana—I performed this recently and it really is something. Title, taken from the lyrics to one of the movements in that piece, translates to 'do not let me die.' I would also like for this piece to be taken as a conceptual trilogy of sorts with 'Mind Games' and 'Moretum,' two other favorite stories of mine which involve the Spirit of the Ring. Challenge pairing is 'Lateshipping:' AmanexDark Bakura.

"That our world, and our life, is only a kind of dream, as compared with the real life of Nature, is shown by what would happen if we buried a wooden bed that we have made. It might simply rot, and return to the Earth, but if there was still some natural life in it, so that it grew, we should be faced not by a bed, but by the live shoot of a tree once more."

—Antiphon, On Truth

The second before the impact seemed to stretch on forever.

I could see it clearly in the harsh light of both my headlights and theirs; one, a dull yellow, the other a blinding white. She swerved at the wheel and I followed, helpless, and as my warning echoed into the night the truck connected with my side at over fifty miles an hour.

I spun and skidded on scorched wheels, pieces of myself tearing apart with a metallic scream as the truck continued on, pummeling through whatever barrier was left before I tilted and plunged headfirst off of the road.

What had started out as a trip to the grocery store would forever remain unfinished.

My other cargo—my precious, precious cargo—would soon become lost to me forever. With every stop and start, and that terrible impact, their bodies jolted in syncopation with my movements, choreographed as if part of some unspeakable finale. The first had died instantly, her body pressed up against the wheel, limbs at odd angles to her body. The cries of the second wished to frighten me away, but my sides were crushed into themselves; an unencroachable barrier to assistance or escape.

And as the cries became softer and feebler until they were too quiet for even herself to hear, and her lungs fought to bring air into that body wracked by suffering it didn't deserve nor comprehend, the one thought that stuck with my mind was: You failed.

You failed.

The sun set and the sun rose and the story began.

Ne Me Mori Facias

Amane woke as one does from an extraordinarily unusual dream—suddenly and with almost no memory of what had transpired within her mind only moments before. The wisps of the dream were chased away by the sunlight filtering through partly-closed eyelids and it was then that she realized she was outside.

The apartment building where they lived contained a small courtyard that she liked to visit on days just like this one. She shrugged her shoulders slightly, her thoughts turning to her family, and how they must be wondering where she was. It wasn't like her to wander off alone… or fall asleep mid-afternoon. She ascended the stairs that led to their apartment on the second story (a lucky find, her mother had said) to find a sizeable group of people already crowded around the open door. She squeezed past them with a hardly-noticed apology, finding the main receiving room stiflingly full.

"Ryou!" Just the person she wanted to see. He was dressed in his best suit and it showed in the slightly pained look on his face. Amane tilted her head towards the fluorescent lights as if they could help her remember: what was the occasion? Perhaps she'd hit her head before that nap. He continued to look straight through her, searching the crowd for any familiar face, or for any escape from the people grouped around the room. Most were actually centered in front of the mantel…

Her eyes froze in that systematic sweep of the room, and as the breath she thought she possessed expelled all of what must have been air from her body, she couldn't help but think childishly that the picture of herself resting next to that of her mother's was her least favorite picture of herself. It was a school portrait—naturally, it looked nothing like her. As she glanced down at her palms and experimentally curled them into a fist, then stretched each fingertip as far as she could, she knew it hardly mattered anymore—no one could see what she looked like now.

Her memory came back to her in snatches of overheard conversation and gleaned wisps of memory much like a dream. Remembering made her shudder. Looking back at her father—back from Egypt only two weeks ago—brought forth the incredible urge to scream, cry, fling her arms about—anything to draw the attention that would never come. "Oh, Ryou," she murmured, wrapping her arms around herself. She stumbled to the empty couch in the center of the room and collapsed into it, almost too weak to cry but desperately wanting to.

The first day set a strange cadence of routine as they moved about the now far too large apartment, eating, preparing for school and work without so much as a word shared between them. Again, she worried for Ryou—he rarely turned to her with his problems, so she knew he would suffer this in silence and solitude.

"I almost forgot," her father said from behind his opened briefcase. "I meant to give this to you both yesterday, but…" the words caught in his throat and he swallowed, continuing, "I bought it at a market in the Valley of the Kings during our excavations—it's some sort of symbolic talisman—see the wedjat eye in the center?" Ryou frowned, spoon raised halfway to his mouth; he expected nothing less from his father, ever the Egyptologist. "Anyway, it's yours now. I'll set it on the table in your room for you to look at after school."

Amane had completely forgotten about their conversation in her rounds of the apartment. She tried to imagine things as they should have been; in her mind's eye the dishes resting in the sink were washed and dried and put away; rooms were cleaned and the mail sorted. As she blinked the spell was broken and the apartment again appeared to her the way it really was—the glue that held them together was gone, and it was already starting to show.

As the day turned into afternoon she found her eyes always drawn back to the small silver containers resting innocuously on the mantel next to their portraits, as if reassuring herself that they were still there, always with the breathless apprehension of what she knew must be underneath that lid. Her eyes flickered towards the door as it opened and Ryou stepped inside, face drawn and weary. He slipped off his shoes and entered his own room, leaving the door ajar as he collapsed onto the chair, rubbing his eyes.

Amane padded into the hallway, peeking into the space between door and wall—it still just didn't feel right going into his room without asking permission—to see him perk up, as if remembering something. She saw him cross the room and pick up the container on his desk, raising it to his face.

All of a sudden she remembered what it was—that talisman from Egypt! She smiled despite herself; it was a good gift. Ryou especially was interested in that sort of stuff. She could see it from behind Ryou's shoulder where the light was best, and the pendant winked at her in a semblance of greeting. Always impatient, she then saw him lift the ring almost reverently from the case, running his fingers down its sides.

Less than one second later Ryou released the ring as if burned, falling to the floor.

Amane's mouth was open in a wordless gasp, her mouth a perfect circle. Without a thought she ran to her brother. "Ryou! Ryou!" She shrieked, reaching out to shake him awake. She half-gasped, half-hiccupped through her tears as her hand disappeared through his shoulder and she immediately withdrew her hand… what if she had hurt him? She felt even more alone and helpless, sitting there beside her brother and she couldn't even feel to see if he still had a pulse…

She turned and glared hatefully at the ring. "It's all your fault," she whispered.

"I beg your pardon," the voice from behind her replied, words practically dripping with irony.

Amane gasped again, whirling on the floor to see a figure leaning against the wall, smirking at her. Her brother's name died on her lips; in the shadows this stranger looked so much like him. He had the same pale hair and skin as Ryou, yet everything about him seemed rough or untamed. She felt her muscles tense. "How did you get in here?"

"Through the door." Lips already split into a lazy grin widened ever so slightly as he looked her over. "I know you... Amane. From his memories." He leaned a little towards Ryou, eyes still on her. "How interesting."

Amane could think of a thousand other things he could have meant instead of interesting. She stiffened, again placing her body between her brother and this new unknown. When she spoke, this time her voice was much smaller. "…I just had to come back. To keep him safe. Now I couldn't even stop this!" Her shoulders shook as she again burst into tears, her hands stroking the air along her brother's hairline.

He watched her reaction to this, his clinical expression taking in each of her blatantly apparent emotions. She was unbelievably immature, letting the smallest thing completely control her. He had to admit that when he first saw her, once his host had touched the Ring—and Ryou was his host now, for he had paid his rent in full—he had been caught off guard. Things had been starting off so well. He was surprised at how easy it was, Ryou had barely put up a fight. But this could be a welcome challenge, and he knew just how he could fit her into his plans.

He crossed the room but didn't kneel to her level, instead preferring the intangible advantage of height. "Ryou isn't dead." Instantly Amane looked up, wiping her face with her sleeve. "He's merely retreated inside of his mind."

Amane glanced sharply at him, her brows knitted with concentration. "What does that mean? He's not…"

"No. But Ryou touched the Ring, and he got me with it—you're wondering how I can see you, correct? It's because we are very similar. We're not quite alive or dead—our souls are bonded to this world for some reason. You could say that I'm the Spirit of the Millennium Ring." He inclined slightly at the waist, an oddly formal gesture. "You could also call me Bakura, if you like. It will make things more familiar for you."

Bakura reached down and picked up the Ring, his fingers caressing the metal just like Ryou's had minutes before. "Ryou is very fortunate that I came along. I can make him much stronger. Now, I'm going to bring him back. But I want you to promise me one thing." His eyes bore into hers, as if searching for her very soul. "Don't forget me."

"I couldn't." Her voice shook; how could she forget him—the only other person she could see? Oddly enough, she wanted to see him again—if only to keep her sane. She had never liked being alone.

"I'll see you very soon… Amane." He slipped the cord of the Ring around her brother's neck, his gaze suddenly intensely upon him. A second later he vanished and Ryou gasped, his eyes snapping open as he was instantly, immediately awake.

Amane drew her legs up to her chest as she watched Ryou grasp one of the pendants of the Ring, his eyes wide. He made to lift it back up over his head and then stopped halfway, as if by some invisible force. He staggered to the bed and collapsed into it, holding his head in his hands. Neither of them said a word.

"I put in the request for a transfer to Domino High School last week, like you asked," their father said once they had finished their dinner. Ryou's hand paused where his fork had been listlessly scraping the sides of his plate. "At first they were against a transfer so late in the semester, but when I sent them your transcripts they were happy to admit you. You'll be glad to know that you can start on Monday."

Ryou tried to smile for his father but it ended up looking more relieved than happy.

"Look, I know that things have been especially rough since; well, since…" His eyes shifted again to the mantle. "But it's been two months and I think that this is a good step, a clean start. I want you to make some new friends. I'm sure they would want to see you happy. I want to see you happy, Ryou."

"…I am happy." Even Ryou knew it sounded forced. "Thank you for getting me transferred. I'll be very glad to leave that school." He suddenly shivered.

"It's for the best. For your safety too, what with those strange attacks happening throughout the school—very strange." His voice had turned gruff. "I want to know that you're safe, that's all."

"You really don't have to worry about me." For once, his voice didn't shake. "Excuse me." He rose from the table, moving to his room and closing the door behind him.

Amane waited in his room, eyes sorrowful as she watched him shed his layers of the façade that he showed to their father. His shoulders slumped visibly and in the lamplight the bags underneath his eyes looked much more pronounced.

Ryou had a new habit, one started only a few weeks before. Every night after dinner he would retire to his room and remove a pen and sheaf of paper from his book bag. Every night, he would write a letter. Amane watched over his shoulder as he began to write.

Dear Amane,

I start at Domino High School on Monday. I'm so glad—I'm not sure I could stand one more minute as a student there. Especially because I think I know who is behind the attacks. Those students who are in the hospital—I think I did it, Amane. I don't know how, but I think it's my fault—and I couldn't bear if anyone else knew about it. Things are so different now. So much has changed, and I wish I could tell you what was really happening. But I'm sca

"You wish you could tell her? Why don't you, instead of dancing around the issue?"

Ryou's pen scratched over the paper, an ink blot spreading across the page. Amane felt her throat constrict as she felt his presence. Bakura was standing right behind her, reading the letter over both of their shoulders with another of his trademark grins. Amane couldn't feel either of them yet she still felt trapped between both of them.

She had discovered a curious thing during the two months which had passed since that first eventful day. Ryou could see Bakura too—although Bakura had mentioned more than once that they shared a mind, and could communicate without saying a word. People had once said that Amane and Ryou had that connection—sometimes they would come to a decision without a word passing between them.

Ryou stiffened in his chair. "I asked you not to read my letters. They're not for you."

"Ryou, I'm in your mind. I know your thoughts, so what's the difference if I end up reading the letter anyway? The real question is: Do you believe that? Why don't you just write out what you really want to say? If Amane's watching over you like you believe, then why not just come out with it? What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid!" Then, in a lower voice: "There's no reason to be afraid anymore."

Bakura leaned down, his head near Amane's shoulder yet even without touching her Amane felt her skin prickle. "You still didn't answer my question."

Ryou turned around in his chair and for an instant Amane thought that he was looking right at her. Then, his eyes shifted and she knew that it was really Bakura, whose face was so close to hers that he was staring at. Amane felt that same shiver run through her legs and stick her feet to the floor. Bakura smiled again and vanished.

Ryou brought his pen back to the paper for a minute, his hand hovering over the surface as if deep in thought. With more force than she thought he could he threw the pen across the room, crumpled the paper, and threw it into the wastebasket.

"Why did you provoke him like that?" Amane asked when she saw him enter the main room. He always sought her out once Amane had left his bedroom, once his host was asleep. She hated how he referred to her brother, always in that impersonal nickname of his.

"My dear Amane, I did it for your benefit." He seemed surprised enough to be credible to her eyes. "I wanted to remind him of why he started writing those letters to begin with."

She found herself warming considerably when she thought about the letters. She had been so afraid that he would forget about her—she was so happy knowing that couldn't have been farther from the truth. "I just wanted to look out for you."

"Sure." Despite her terse response she averted her eyes, instead looking at her feet. How could he be so confident all of the time! A small part of her envied him; yet another part was in awe of him. Another part of her feared him.

To pass the time he told her stories.

He told her how there were seven Millennium Items just like the one that lay around his neck. He talked at length about how each one had a power, and how their wearers were held in the highest regard in Ancient Egypt.

That night he told her a story about a certain pharaoh and a small town called Kul Elna. Unlike all of his other stories that were enchanting, even magical, this one was sad, even heart wrenching. He let his voice trail off suddenly, as if waiting for something.

Amane leaned towards him, taking his bait without even realizing it. "Well? How did it end? Did the thief get his revenge against the Pharaoh?"

Bakura grinned, looking down at the Ring around his neck. He could feel his host's body sinking limply into the couch; he'd have to cut short these late-night rendezvous if he didn't want the trouble of finding another host. His eyes met Amane's and he in turn leaned towards her, his voice soft as if imparting a secret. "I don't know how the story ends. Maybe the story didn't end."

Dear Amane,

I like Domino High School. You wouldn't believe how nice everyone is. I have been drawn into their circle of friends: Yugi, Anzu, even Jounouchi and Honda… they call me their friend. I suppose I am their friend. I wish you could meet them. Especially Yugi—he reminds me of you.

Ryou set the pen down again, pausing upon what next to write. He rested his arms on the surface of the desk—his limbs felt like lead. He had been noticing the subtle changes in himself as the weeks went by. Loss of appetite, fatigue—he could never concentrate because that voice was always there, in the back of his mind… at first he thought it was stress. But now, with every passing day at Domino High School, he wasn't so sure.

Bakura seemed to be getting stronger. Ryou was sure that somehow, his energy was being shifted, being pulled through the Ring. And at first, he didn't even care. But now that he had friends, someone to protect, he wasn't so sure. He was never able to finish the letters—he was never able to write exactly what he wanted to say.

He knew with a resolute certainty now—the Millennium Ring was evil. Bakura was evil. All Ryou did was lay one finger on the Ring and now… all of this had happened. Because he wasn't strong enough to fight back.

Ryou scrunched his eyes and desperately willed what he had been trying to say for weeks.

In his mind the Spirit of the Ring laughed and laughed and laughed.

Amane, help me.

"Father, this is Anzu, and next to her is Yugi. The taller ones are Jounouchi and Honda."

"It's very nice to meet you all," Ryou's father never looked more pleased. "You are welcome at our home anytime."

"It's very nice to meet you too." The one Ryou had introduced as Yugi had an especially distinctive hairstyle. "Ryou told me that you're an archaeology professor at Domino University. I think that's fascinating."

They continued on in their animated conversation as Amane watched—so these were Ryou's friends. She didn't quite know what to think about the two taller boys who looked like thugs, but Anzu and Yugi seemed very nice.

As Yugi and her father moved into another room to look at his collection of Ancient Egyptian ushabtis, she knew Bakura had materialized behind her. He had been doing that a lot recently, but it didn't scare her anymore. The feeling she got when she heard his voice was always the same, though: a rush of static down her spine, yet accompanied by a small hint of vertigo. It was like the thrill of looking over the edge of a high cliff—she felt a little lightheaded even then, as he spoke into her ear.

"Yes. The Millennium Puzzle…"

She saw Ryou look up sharply; his gaze was so intense she again forgot that he was looking straight through her.

She felt rather than saw his smile, before he continued: "You've heard the story. Yugi's the owner of the Millennium Puzzle. You also know that was the same item that the Pharaoh owned back in Ancient Egypt, when the Items were at their height of power." Amane wasn't sure, but she thought she could detect a hint of malice underneath the words, twisting them. But then again, she couldn't be sure. "You know, we might be able to write a final chapter on that last story after all…"

"Stop!"

"Ryou, are you alright?" It was Anzu who had spoken. "Is something wrong?"

Ryou turned towards her, a ready-made smile on his lips. "Sorry—I was just distracted for a moment."

"That's alright," Anzu smiled at him, a real smile, and for a moment the whole room appeared brighter. "Hey, why don't we play a game? You really like games, don't you?"

Ryou started, dropping the shoe he had just removed; then, after a moment's hesitation, repositioned them neatly by the door. "We don't have to play a game. We can watch TV instead, if you like."

"Sure, whatever's fine." Honda relaxed into the well-worn couch, stretching his legs. "Anything but homework."

"Hey, nice pictures." Anzu moved to the mantel. "Is that your sister?"

Ryou and Amane both flinched at the word. Amane felt a tingling, queasy twist in her stomach. "Ryou…" She pleaded, softly. She had almost forgotten Bakura was still standing behind her.

"Yes, that was my sister, Amane." Anzu moved closer to the mantel, and then suddenly her eyes widened—she must have seen the urn.

"Oh, Ryou… I'm so sorry."

"I have a younger sister—her name's Shizuka. If I lost her, I don't know what I'd do."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Ryou felt his throat constrict, and his mouth went completely dry. He could barely speak, yet he felt that one more wave of pity would cause him to drown. "I don't want to spoil your visit," he choked out, wanting more than anything to be alone. "Please, let's talk about something else."

Amane felt a pang deep in her chest each time their eyes wandered to the metal urn resting on the mantel. She could see as well as anyone that though it had started out shiny, over the months it had become dulled, tinged with dust, easily forgettable. Amane felt it all well up inside of her—what would it mean… he couldn't want to forget her, could he? Was he embarrassed to talk to his friends about her? She turned to storm out of the room, wishing more than anything that she had the corporeality to slam the door, when she found herself face-to-face with Bakura.

He was still there. He had witnessed everything. She felt her face burn at the thought.

He still towered over her; she could barely see his eyes, hidden beneath those layers of bangs. Slowly he nodded his head in the direction of Ryou's bedroom, and then vanished.

Without a moment's hesitation Amane followed, moving swiftly away from the group now happily chatting, all thoughts of her seemingly forgotten.

"It's so unfair!" For once, Amane wanted to act like a child, shouting and stomping all over the room. But she was no longer a child, and would never be fully grown, either—she was stuck in yet another halfway point; trapped in the threshold of her youth.

"Life's not fair." Bakura regarded her coolly from his position near the far wall of the room.

"I—I know that." Somehow his words seemed to calm her down. "I just can't stand it sometimes. I think if you hadn't come along I would have gone completely mad by now." She suddenly ducked her head, hiding an embarrassed smile. She was suddenly glad that he couldn't see into her thoughts.

"You shouldn't be so concerned." With his next words Amane stared openly at him for a full minute. Maybe he could read her mind. "He thinks about you constantly. It's relentless." She almost giggled at the slightly pained look on his face. "He wouldn't forget about you that easily. If you had this connection, you would know that."

"I sometimes wish I did."

"Do you now?" With more interest he crossed the room to stand before her. "Well, I can give you one alternative that might give you what you want." He paused slightly and she nodded, urging him to continue. "You know that the reason we are here, even beyond death, is that our souls are tied to an object. For you, I believe it is your urn—the representation of your previous body."

Bakura did not fail to notice her shudder at his mention of the urn. Taking it as confirmation of his theory, he continued, "What I believe souls like us can do is, if there is a strong enough inclination, change that object to which they are tied. You might become closer to Ryou if you were tied to an object closer to him."

"Like the Millennium Ring?" The words came so suddenly it seemed a wonder that she had not thought of it before.

"It does make sense. Who knows, Ryou might even be able to sense you if you were connected with the Ring… his own connection to it is rather strong now." At that mention Bakura looked especially pleased.

Amane knew in an instant that she would do anything to become closer to Ryou—to really be able to protect him like she wanted. Most importantly, she knew that this was what Ryou would want. "How would I do this?"

"You can't sometimes wish it. You have to feel it, wholly and irrevocably. You have to want it with every fiber of your being. And you must have a stronger connection to the Ring, for example, than your own urn."

Amane shuddered again. Could she really do it? For Ryou, she kept reminding herself. For Ryou, she would do anything. Envisioning the urn in her mind, she realized that she had already done everything for him.

She blinked twice, raised her eyes to the Millennium Ring hanging from Bakura's shoulders, and shuddered.

Amane opened her eyes to find herself lying on the floor in Ryou's bedroom—she felt a little tired, as if she had somehow physically strained her muscles. She could see her brother lying on the bed, asleep. She was glad—he needed the rest.

"Amane."

Bakura's eyes glinted in the moonlight pouring through the window where the shades had been pulled back. With an indecipherable smile he extended his hand.

His hand grasped hers, pulling her up until she stood before him. With that first touch her senses flew into overdrive; he seemed to be everywhere all at once, in every sense and in every way. She could feel the scratchiness of his clothing where it brushed against her arm, and she could feel the tips of his hair tickling her face. Impulsively she reached her arms up around his neck and hugged him fiercely, pulling his own body closer to hers. She buried her face into his chest, wanting nothing more to just feel. Every pore of her skin seemed to cry out with joy.

More out of consideration for Bakura than anything else, she pulled away, now racing across the room to her brother. She didn't care, she would wake him up. "Ryou!" Her voice was high with excitement. She reached out to shake him awake.

Her arm disappeared through him as if swiping through air. The jubilant smile froze on her face, and again and again she tried—why wasn't it working? Fear gnawed at her stomach, and again she felt lightheaded with disbelief. "Why isn't it working?"

"My dear Amane, you sound like there was a guarantee. How was I to know what the change would be?" His voice was light and mocking, different from any she had heard before, and in her heart she knew that he knew.

"You are now connected with the Millennium Ring. Your very soul wanted to be tied with it more than the remains of your own body. Who is the real bearer of the Ring? Tell me." He reached out and forced her away from his host, towards the center of the room. In the sliver of moonlight she could see him, really see him, and again Amane felt that sense of vertigo.

"You are, Bakura."

"How right you are." He grinned down at her, and she shivered. Again, she felt frozen to the ground, unable to move. "Be careful what you wish for. You did all of this for Ryou—you gave up everything for him. In the end, though, it was all really for me. I should be honored."

Amane didn't know why she couldn't move, when every part of her was now screaming to leave, go, do anything other than stand there and wait for her own destruction. She couldn't move. She was still tied to him—because she still wanted to be. She didn't want to move.

She saw Ryou turn in his sleep on the bed, the sheen of perspiration on his forehead. Even in sleep, for him there was no true rest. For Amane, she couldn't even find rest in death.

Bakura grabbed her shoulders, smile widening at her trembling. She should be grateful her soul would be used for a much higher purpose—his eyes darkened thinking of the Pharaoh, the puzzle, and that boy—! They would all meet their end. He smiled almost tenderly at her. All thanks to her.

He pulled Amane into his arms, pressing his lips to hers as they both vanished into the night. Ryou turned once more in his sleep but did not wake up.

Dear Amane,

I'm not sure I'll be able to write any more letters. I can barely move, I'm so weak—the Spirit of the Ring, the one I've written to you about before—he keeps insisting that I let him take over, just for awhile, until I'm better. But I'm afraid, Amane. I'm not sure I'll be able to come back. I'm not sure he'll let me back.

Bakura is unbelievably dangerous. My friends are all going to a tournament soon, and I'm not sure I'll have the strength to keep fighting him without them. Please, if you really can read this… don't worry about protecting me. Protect yourself—stay far away from me. Don't worry. I'll be fine.

Ryou

The End

Footnotes:

When Ryou first touches the Ring, what 'happens' is detailed in Mind Games. I also further extrapolate on the parasitic relationship between Ryou and the Spirit of the Ring in Moretum. I feel that it's also worth it to note that the opening scene (the car crash, in the POV of the car) was written to symbolize the relationship between the three of them—Amane is the car, trying to protect its passengers (Ryou), yet they collide head-on into the truck, that completely destroys them (Bakura).

I hoped you all enjoyed reading this—in the anime we really get a feel for the bonds and connections of friendship so I wanted to explore the ties of family, which should be stronger—and how they can form the reasons for the changes undergone in this story. I think it's also fascinating to look at two sides of the same event—how Bakura treats Ryou (he doesn't even refer to him by name), and then how he treats (more like traps) Amane. I also wanted to return to my canon-compliant roots and expound from the whatweknow into the whatcouldhavebeen. Please review, and as always, thank you for reading!