After the long and exhausting conversations about Elena, Cristian is deep in thought about everything Ana said. Slowly, his convictions begin to crack under the weight of Ana's beliefs and arguments.

The last part is a dream. I was so half-dead with sleep deprivation when I wrote it that I just went with the flow. Beware, it's a little lyrical, maybe a little hypnotic, and definitely tends towards fantasy. But I liked it after a good night's sleep so I just polished it left it in

Christian's POV.

Reflections

Ana fell asleep against me, her head on my shoulder, one arm draped softly on my belly, but the darkness is quiet. I'm even comfortable with her so close to me, and I don't want to move.

As I expected, sleep eludes me. No surprise there, after the day we had and our loaded exchange tonight. I have spent the last half hour or so gazing at my girl's peaceful face, glowing in the soft moon and city lights filtering from outside. Will I ever get bored of staring at her?

As I bask in her slumbering embrace, I replay our conversation again and again in my head, trying to absorb everything, to make sense of it all. I really think it did us a world of good, and following Ana's suggestions as to how to proceed was surprisingly helpful. I had to keep my temper in check at first, but it was easy to manage my anger once I relaxed and made a conscious effort to listen to what she was telling me. Is that what John talked to her about at the ball? Therapy tips? Be that as it may, it worked. I don't remember us ever tackling difficult topics so calmly. Especially not Elena.

It felt weird at first, though, sitting in a chair, not being expected to talk but to listen. Almost like reverse therapy; I'll have to tell Flynn about it. And Ana certainly talked a lot, more than I ever heard her speak. I had no idea she had so much weighing on her pale, slender shoulders. I make a mental promise to work on listening to her better when she's upset about something. That would certainly make life easier than snarling at each other and getting nowhere, especially if she's going to move in with me.

I play the conversation again. Ana does listen. She pays attention. Not just to me, but to everyone and everything around her. The smiles and the pains. The small, benevolent gestures, too often overlooked, and the malicious ones, purposely hidden. The beauty and the horror. The light and the darkness. She sees it all, in everything. Is that the secret to her kindness and her sincerity, and why I'm so attracted to her? She certainly seemed to see right through my armor the second our eyes met. I am still awe-struck by how much she not only sees but organizes, classifies, connects, memorizes, and understands in that brilliant head of hers. I knew she was meticulous with her books, but I had no idea she had such an analytical mind when it came to human nature. I thought it was just me. Self-centered much, Grey?

I play the conversation again. This time, I focus on the main topic, the reason why we had that talk tonight. My irritating baggage. The old news. The Bitch-troll. As I recall Ana's verbal slip, I have to suppress a snort. It is certainly insulting, but almost childish too. It drags up images of colorful monsters from the illustrated fairytales books Grace and Carrick gave me when I was learning to read. Ana is very creative with her nicknames when she hates someone. Not so much with she loves, it seems. She tends to use their names as a sign of respect. Does she have one for me? Should I ask her? Should I wait to see if she slips? And as wonder about that, I start: she called me "love". It's sweet, short, and sounds a little British to my ears. Like these classic novels that she loves so much.

I marshal my scattered thoughts and refocus them on Mrs. Lincoln. Is she really as manipulative as Ana says? My mind resists the thought, and I know it's because I've known Elena for so long that questioning her motives now feels like a betrayal of our friendship and ungratefulness for the things she has helped me with over the years.

I take a moment to heed the expensive charlatan's advice about focusing on the positives. Ana understands how I see the relationship, and even though she highly disapproves of the method, she agrees that it probably helped in the end. From our past conversations, I know that she also believes the help came at the cost of further damage. Honestly, I was such a loose cannon at the time, I couldn't tell what was damaged before and what was damaged in the process.

Another positive. Ana never judged me for my tastes. Her behavior and her curiosity told me as much, but it never hurts to hear it. And yet, she doesn't know why I do what I do, and the thought that one day, she might, terrifies me. She also says she was never angry with me during those arguments about Mrs. Lincoln. I find that harder to believe, but Ana is not a liar. It sounds like I am not the only one displacing my anger, but it is so unlike Ana that I need a second to dwell on that. Hell, does Elena really get under my girl's skin so much? I need to focus. I think back to what I saw of their confrontation on Saturday, the rage I could feel emanating from Ana as she left the tent, the way she hissed at me when I had no idea Elena was even there. Fuck, it sure looks like it. Ana is definitely not a hateful person. Could she be right about Elena? No, I can't believe that, not about all those years.

Maybe about Elena's behavior towards Anastasia specifically. After all, I didn't see it in the moment because I was angry that our evening was interrupted, and I'm as used as one can be to Elena's brusque manners, but she was definitely rude to Ana tonight. She barged in and acted like she owned the place. And still owned me, maybe, a little. Old habits die hard. Let's concentrate on that angle then. I go over every little petty thing Ana has cataloged, every little act of interference, every weakness she says Elena has exploited in the past weeks. Ana's first: her guilt and her pain, her infinite capacity to love, her fear of corporal punishments. Then Grace's: her maternal instinct, her constant worry that I'm unhappy. Finally, mine: my need for control, my secrecy.

One of Ana's sentences nags at me: "The only thing she wasn't ready for, was for me to talk back to her, probably because I didn't use to do that much around you in the beginning". This is true too. When we were still headed the submissive route, Ana had a smart mouth, but she wasn't as outspoken. That came with the vanilla relationship; she relaxed and felt confident enough to be more assertive. Her role isn't to submit anymore, and my girl won't let anybody give her lip. I'm feeling uneasy. The more I think, the more it looks like Ana might be right. It would not be surprising either, given how many times I've called her "insightful". And if this is true, it is possible that Ana's vague assumptions may be dead on too: would Elena feign an offer of friendship to look for more ammunition?

I mentally dig through my own memories in search of more evidence. It pains me, but now I have to know. First, I think of my trip to Georgia. Elena realized what I felt for Ana and encouraged me to go. The outcome of that was great. Waking up with Ana, gliding, her mom asking me to dinner, that was a sound, friendly advice. When my girl came back, I screwed up, and she left me. But when I told Elena, she was hardly surprised. "This life isn't for everyone". And hardly comforting, not that she ever was. Isn't that what a friend is supposed to do though? When she came tonight, pissed as I was, I offered her solutions, possible plans… Being friendly. Come to think of it, why did she come, actually? She didn't ask for anything, was reluctant to accept any help I offered. "I just wanted to share." She could have used the phone for that. This brings to the forefront of my mind my telling Elena that Ana and I were giving it another chance, that I was trying a regular relationship. "Your funeral". It slipped my mind in the wake of Welch's news that Leila had a gun permit, but in addition to everything else, the picture is bleak, to say the least. Suddenly the memory sounds like a curse. Is she trying to ruin our relationship? Why is she doing all this?

For that, I have to guess and assume, helped along by Ana's hypotheses. Carefully, avoiding the landmines, I pick through the part of her speech that I can't bear to consider might be true: why Elena picked me. I extract one phrase and shove the rest aside. Maybe in a while, with Flynn, but not now, alone in my head, in bed. That's a foolproof way to give myself nightmares. I examine the words: " she knew when she got her hooks into you, that you would be devoted to her". And I was, without a doubt. But that ended with our arrangement, didn't it? More introspection is needed. I don't want to dive too deep into the sexual aspect, so I stay on the surface. I had fifteen girls surrender themselves to my whim, but I only ever surrendered myself to one. Only Elena. I never let anyone else take control of me. But now there's Ana. I examine our fledgling relationship. We are trying to be partners, more equal, to take each other's needs and desires into account. She's mine, but I'm hers, too; we have power over each other. I consciously admit to myself that I am devoted to Ana now, and she to me, or at least it is what we hope. And realize it means that Elena is losing power over me. I had never snapped at her for showing up unannounced before, never really told her off for her behavior. Even though I didn't understand why, I knew that Elena's behavior was hurting my girl, and in an attempt to protect her, I got bossy with Elena.

Fucking hell! That hasn't happened since she subbed for me during my training! This is my epiphany. This is what it is about. Elena has had power over me for twelve years, and not only my body, but she was also the only one who knew all my secrets. Now Ana does too, and I'm more interested in making Ana happy than pleasing Elena. She hasn't lost her control over anyone since Linc beat the shit out of her and now her control over me is slipping. And finally, painstakingly, I come to the conclusion that she is trying to regain it the way she has always managed me before: through pain. But since she can't beat the shit out of me anymore, she has moved on to emotional pain, punching where it hurts: my ego, my mom, and my girl. Well, fuck that! That won't do at all.

And I'm kicking myself, and I want to bang my head on a wall, because this is what Ana has been telling me all along. Mrs. Robinson is behaving like a Bitch-troll. Ana was right the whole time: she was trying to get between us. I'm reeling. Has she ever had my best interests at heart since she understood I had fallen in love? Shit, this is too much, I need to move on. I resolve to save that can of worms for later and not tell Ana about my epiphany until I talk to Flynn about it. This is definitely an issue I need professional help with.

I take a few deep breaths, as quietly as I can, careful not to wake my sleeping beauty. I take the time to calm myself before I tackle what I know I must revisit next. I watch her, and lose myself for a moment in the sifting pressure of her body against mine as she breathes, the silkiness of her hair cascading on my arm and her pillow, the sweet honey-wildflowers-and-apples scent of her, mingling with the smell of the expression of our love on the sheets. I revel in the incredible warmth, smoothness and softness of the skin of her inner arm slung carelessly across the lower part of my stomach, just below the navel. A week ago, it seemed impossible. Now, I am basking in the pleasure of feeling this languid contact of skin on skin. I recall earlier, when she said she felt Elena's presence around us like a dark shadow following her. I used to feel the presence of dozens of shadows around me, and she's banishing them one by one, day after day. One kind word, one gentle touch, one tender kiss, one loving look at the time. And one after the other, she is replacing them with bright plumes of light, each a different vibrant color: the pale pink of her skin, the dark rose of her just-kissed lips, the dark purple of my favorite dress, the metallic gold, copper and auburn of her hair in the sun on The Grace, the powder blue of the first blouse Taylor ever bought her and that she seems to love so much and wears often, the blinding white of her perfect smile, the reflective silver of the dress she wore at the ball, the green and red of apples in an orchard in the fall, and the mesmerizing, shifting, deep blue of her eyes, the most brilliant color of them all. I watch them dance behind my eyelids for a while, enjoying the beauty and joy Ana has brought into my life.

Calmer, I return to my thoughtful examination of our long conversation, and it suddenly dawns on me that the process, though familiar through long years in therapy, is far easier than with any of our previous heavy discussions. I stop a second and wonder why. As soon as the question is fully formed, the answer appears: because of Ana. Because of the countless hours of thought she put into orchestrating this moment she needed. Because of the cozy yet neutral space she chose. And even briefly, she readied me for it. She told me what she needed from me, what I could expect her to say, and why it mattered. And then she made tea. It sounds silly but the time it took her was just what I needed to enter the room in a better state of mind. I am sure she knew exactly what she was doing, she is brilliant. And I know that throughout the whole thing, she was gauging my expression, timing her silences, sensing when a joke or an example was needed to keep me engaged.

Replaying quickly the very beginning of our chat, in the bedroom, I realize how tense I sounded, and how quickly I turned my anger on her when she said she needed to talk. Jesus, I am an ass! She was calm, and two sentences in I'm ready to rip her throat out. And for the first time, I hear the strain in her usually soft voice. I didn't even realize the strength it was taking her to keep her own temper in check, her volume steady, her tone soothing, not giving me any excuse to keep snarling. She put herself through all this, not just for her, but because we needed to do it. She did it for us. I would never have seen it, would have kept the "do not approach for fear of a shouting match" label on the Elena folder in the back of my head, and done my best to ignore it. But Anastasia was smarter, wiser than me. She did all that, knew all that, and I was ready to shut it down before even giving her the chance to get started. It's humbling.

And I let the memory unfold again, remembering just the melody of her voice, and I know she there was an entirely quiet battle raging inside her, deciding which emotion she wanted to let me hear, struggling to keep others hidden snuggly inside, letting two conflicting ones duel for which would color her voice. It's fascinating, it's at once natural and a performance, theater and a song. And it was for me, to keep me calm, engaged, to make me understand, to will me to believe. No wonder she was exhausted by the end of it! What kind of strength does that take, especially after the day we had? My throat tightens as a single image fixes itself at the back of my eyes. A silent, solitary tear, rolling down her soft cheek as she finishes her passionate declaration on three small words: I love you. And I know she's keeping the others in by sheer force of will, and this single drop encompasses everything she felt tonight, everything she showed and everything she hid, the depth with which she meant every single word she uttered, every reassuring touch she graced me with, and finally, a fleeting moment of wavering control which would be the only sign of how utterly exhausted she was.

After what she did tonight, I don't have a doubt on my mind: with her by my side, I am indestructible, and together we can do anything. In awe of her quiet inner strength, I make a silent vow to the governing forces of the universe, that whatever debt I may owe to Heaven of Hell to keep Anastasia with me, I will pay it.

I gather myself to finally reflect onto the last, most heartfelt and most disconcerting part of our long talk: her declaration. And it is hard to face because the depth of feeling I see in her eyes is warring with the instinct that I do not deserve a single word she is saying. Okay, let's do this one part at a time, the easiest focus on first, her visualization exercise. I've done it a few times with Flynn, but it was never quite like that, and I wonder where she learned how to do this, but I suspect that, as is often the case with my beautiful girl, she is acting on instinct. If Ana had been sixteen, I would not a chased her, of course. And I recall vividly the way I recoiled when I heard the word "sixteen", the way the negation was out of my mouth before I could think the words when she asked me the question.

She immediately found a situation that shattered my carefully constructed denials of so many things she has been telling me for weeks, what she has been willing me to see. I care. I know the law, I have an ethical code, values, that whatever might happen in the privacy of my home, I will not stray from. Even my Dom/sub contract and all its rules were carefully constructed to keep the girls safe and healthy. I think about Leila, who is not healthy. She scares me, but above all else I want her to get help and get better. I hear "sixteen" ringing in my ears again, and I flinch again. And finally, I know what Ana feels. I would not take a minor down that road. But Elena did. She took me, and I let her because I didn't see any other way to let out what was coursing through me. But she was never gentle, in her words or gestures. Could I have learned if I had met a girl with Ana's patience when I was younger? I remember a dream I once had. Elena's nails digging in my cheeks. Scrunching my eyes shut, waiting for a slap that never comes, and opening my eyes to see my beautiful Anastasia caressing my face gently with her fingertips. Was that what my dreams were telling me?

I stop my thoughts in their tracks before I dive too deep into a rabbit hole of what-ifs and teenage years. Instead, I direct my thoughts on Ana following me into my dark world. I remember all the things she said she found following me: " strength, resilience, confidence, and more pleasure than I ever thought my body could feel and contain". I knew about the pleasure, but I always thought she knew her own strength. She said so often that I intimidated her, I assumed she just showed more and more of it as she became more comfortable around me. She thinks I gave this to her, this knowledge of herself? Could this be? Ana doesn't lie. The thought that I may have played even a small part in shaping the strong young woman who sat with me tonight and spoke so clearly and openly makes me feel ten feet tall. A young woman who imposed her will on me with no threats, no pain, no violence, but instead with her calm, her determination, and her kindness. I wonder if she realizes the enormity of what she did with this conversation. She did what no one managed before. She made me calm down, sit through an open dialogue I didn't want to have at all and my temper never rose. My parents never could. Even Flynn can't keep me in check. I can suppress the signs, but never the feelings. Ana brings me peace. Kindness begets kindness…

My mind strays to what she said next, the question that had plagued my idle thoughts since her first visit to my home. How can she be a virgin? Why would she choose me? And now I have an answer, and, apparently, I have myself to thank for her ability to say it out loud. " Never, ever before had I desired anyone, until I met you". And, astonishingly, this is an answer that I can accept. I recall being frustrated that night, that she didn't finish that thought, pacing the office, certain that she was projecting her classical romantic notions onto a face and body that pleased her eyes. But neither her heart of her mind drew her to me, her body did. As did mine. I continue unraveling the thread of that thought. Not only am I the only man who ever had her, but my body is also the only one hers has ever wanted. And suddenly, I realize that in some ways, she is the only woman who has ever really had me. The only one who has ever been in my bedroom, who has ever slept with her head on my bare chest, who has ever been able to touch so much of my body freely and with my total trust. I never believed in meant to be, but were we? She's mine, I'm hers.

I am finally at the edge of sleep and I let myself consider the part of her declaration that until a few moments ago, I did not think I could bear. But Ana knows me, she does see the shadows around me, and knows how to slay them. She knows what she's doing, what I need, better than I do. Every single one of her words, the lists, the examples, the experiment, swirl and come together with the depth of her conviction and the boundlessness of her love. And together, they form a potent talisman that allows me, for the first time, to question my life-long belief that I hold within me nothing but darkness.

Ana sees a light. Does she, really? But Ana doesn't lie. "That light is there", and her hand hovering over my heart, leaving the exact minimum of space I need to feel safe. How does she know? And if she knows that, does she really know everything else? And she says others see it too. In my half-dreaming state, as I think of their names, my brain pulls up glowing pictures of their smiling faces looking at me. Andrea, in the doorway into my office, and Ros, across my desk; Gail, preparing my breakfast of croissant and apricots, and Taylor, his eyes crinkling in the rear-view mirror; Carrick and Grace, over the dinner table the first time they invited Ana; Grandpa Theodore, inviting us to the farm; my grandmother wanting me to become an "honest man"; Mia, throwing herself into my arms in her pink dress. Elliott, following me to a bar to pick up a drunk Ana; he burns brighter when he sees Kate, weird. But all these are with Ana, or since I got her back. She is my light.

The closer I am to sleep, the stranger things I can conjure up inside my head, so I experiment some more. I reach for the awful time when Ana left. There is Taylor, concerned, handing me a tube of glue and asking if I have eaten; and then Gail, threatening to throw away an omelet I never asked for, risking my temper to make sure I eat. Ana was right as always, they do care. The other faces are too dark, I can't see them anymore without her. Elena floats up, she's in dim light, but I see her, without Ana there. The fuzzy tendrils of a theory tickle the edges of my curiosity, so I test it out. I conjure up Ana next to Elena, and Elena fades into shadows. This is weird. Does it mean something? I'll test that thought next. First, I look for darkness with Ana still here. And immediately Taylor floats up again, handing me his credit card. I was scared, and his light dimmed, just like Ana said. Then I see Grace, dimmer than before, worrying about Ana using me for my money. I was annoyed. Then she mentions the breakup, and I'm furious, and she darkens further, but I can see Elena lighting up in a corner. It does mean something. I test Elena with other people, and she's always the dimmest. Only when she's alone can I see her clearly, and still a bit brighter alone, at my desk, finishing a model glider. My most miserable day, and it's the brightest I've ever seen her. I pull Ana up again, bask in her light, and look at Elena. She is completely swallowed up by darkness, and so am I.

Ana knew. She told me. She can see people's lights. She said Elena brings only darkness.

l can't see my own light. I'm small again. And it's dark. I'm scared. I talk to the darkness.

"It's too dark here! And I don't have a light."

"You do, Christian, love. It's just not working."

There's a lady voice in the darkness. But she's far away.

I walk in the darkness. But I can't see. I talk to the voice.

"Did the big man break my light? With his big boots? And the smell of nasty? And the belt?"

"No, Christian, love. He only dimmed it. You were afraid, and angry, and in pain."

I know the voice. But I can't find the name in my head.

"Did Mommy break my light? When she didn't wake up?"

"No, Christian, love. But she dimmed it a lot. It was almost black. You were sad. And scared. And all alone."

I like the voice. She makes me safe.

"Did the lady police break my light? When she took me? And my blankie?"

"No, Christian, love. She never saw it. Your Mommy darkened it and the lady police didn't know where to look."

I try to remember the face to go with the voice. But I can't find it in my head.

"… … …"

I'm scared. I can't see. I can't speak. I scream inside my head.

"Hush, Christian, love. Don't scream, I'm still here. Speak your words inside your head."

I try to calm down. But I'm alone. And I'm small. I try to think to the voice.

"You can hear if I speak in my head?"

"Of course, Christian, love. Because I know you."

I know I know the voice. But I can't find the name that goes with the lady voice.

"Did the lady police steal my voice?"

"No, Christian, love. You left it with Mommy. Your voice will take a long, long nap. But it will wake up. I promise."

"I think I know you. Can you tell me your name? Why do you call me love?"

"Not yet, Christian, love. You need to be bigger. Then you will remember."

I cry. My nose is runny.

"When I got bigger, Mommy didn't wake up. And I was alone"

"Hush now, Christian, love. I'll give you a clue. You said I was your light, but I'm not. That's why I stay with you. I promised to help you find it."

"You need a name. Can I call you Lady Light?"

"You can, Christian, love. It's a lovely name. Thank you."

"Did the angel doctor break my light? With the cold sucky thing?"

"No, Christian, love. But she saw it was dark. She knew what to do, and remember, she didn't touch you. Grace wants to heal you."

"Can she fix my light?"

"She can, Christian, love. But just a little bit. It takes time, and a lot of help to fix a light."

"Lady Light? Did Lelliott break my light?"

"He didn't, Christian, love. He made it flicker. He was a bit jealous. He wanted to like you and to hate you all at the same time. So your light twinkled. But that's over now. Elliott is your bother, and you love each other."

"Did baby Mia break my light?"

"Not at all, Christian, love. She woke up your voice, and she fixed your light. She fixed it quite a bit. Look around, it's lighter. You can see yourself, and you're an adult now."

"Did Elena break my light?"

"Not really, Christian, love. But she damaged it. She took it from your heart and scattered it around. But it can still be fixed."

"Did Ana break my light? When she left, and everything was empty, and so dark?"

"I didn't, Christian, love. But I am sorry. I was hurt, and I was scared, and I ran away. I took my own light with me and left you in the dark. I wasn't strong enough to help just yet. But I am now. And I won't ever leave again."

"Anastasia! It was you? I knew the voice was familiar, but I couldn't remember your name. I always knew you were my light."

"No, I'm not, Christian, love. I told you when you were small. Your light is all around, you just don't recognize it. You were hurt so much, when you were so little, and stayed in the dark for so long, you forgot what your own light looks like."

"I'm not sure, baby. I see nothing but shadows all around me, everywhere I look. And there's nothing bright or warm inside me."

"You're lying, Christian, love. I know you saw them, the colorful lights, everywhere, between the shadows. And I know that you love me, and your parents, and your siblings. If there was no light and no warmth left about you, you would not be able to feel love, for anyone."

"You're right, I saw the lights. But they're not mine, they're yours. When you fight the shadows, you leave them behind. And I know they belong to you, because their colors remind me of you."

"They're not, Christian, love, they really are yours. And I don't fight your shadows, either. You are the one letting them go. Every time you were hurt since you were a child, a piece of your light was torn out of your heart. And every time you thought you deserved the pain, shadows covered the pieces of light. But they are a part of you, so they stay around you always. Only you can see the darkness, and everyone else still sees your light, but the more shadows you saw, the more you believed you were monstrous and deserved the pain, and the more you let yourself be hurt. Now, you are letting yourself be happy, and every happy moment heals your heart a little more, and the shadows of pain are removed."

"Ana, you're not making sense. If those lights were mine, why wouldn't they come back inside me? I've been looking for my light for so long Ana…"

"I know, Christian, love, and they can come back inside. You just have to believe. Believe that you are good. Believe you are worthy. Believe that you love. Believe that these pieces of light really belong to you. You asked me when you were small why I call you 'Christian, love' all the time. This is why. To help you heal. To remind you that I love you, and that you can love, and that you need to love yourself."

"Baby, I can't. I told you, I don't have a heart, not really. Just enough for you and my family. But the rest, I can't believe it. I'm not good, I'm… empty."

"Hush, now, Christian, love. You need to listen. Getting it all back will take time, but you won't be alone. I'm here, I'm with you, and I will always keep reminding you. And those scattered lights around you, shadowed or not, they're safe. Nobody can steal them, nobody can destroy them, so you have your whole life to believe in yourself. And I have my whole life to convince you. But I think I can prove to you that I am not lying. Close your eyes, and look inside you. Look near your heart, and tell me if you see some light."

"Okay, I'll try… Wait, I think I see something. It's faint, and flickering, like a tea-light candle."

"That's good, Christian, love. Now keep your eyes closed but look around yourself, at the shadows and the bright lights. Is anything different?"

"No… Wait, yes. There was a small copper light before. It's gone now."

"Of course, it is, Christian, love. It's inside you now. You believed something good about yourself, so a bit of your light came home. Would you tell me what it was?"

"I think… I think you convinced me that I don't compromise on my ethics. Maybe… This is all too strange… Maybe you're right, and this is my light. Maybe you're really not my light, and it was just hidden around me this whole time. But, Ana, baby, would you still help me and be my Lady Light?"

"Always, Christian, love. I can always be that".

And with my Ana, my Lady Light, the darkness around is just a little bit less scary. And my dreams drift to things that make more sense. Dancing to the music of a big band. Flying Charlie Tango. Stirring The Grace on the open sea.