My doubts were consuming me, and so I decided to go where I thought it all started - where that seed of doubt was born. After I talked to my Master, I decided to go back to the ruins of Kirin'Var and think of what sow doubt in my mind. "Maybe the ghosts of the obliterated village can help me", I thought, with denial still stirring in the depths of my head.

The Tempest Keep, our base of operations, was located at Netherstorm, a damned and desolated piece of land - or pieces of land, should I say. There is nowhere safe at Outlands now, where the very own land seems to want to devour you - but Netherstorm is unique. It is the picture of instability and chaos. I heard it was once a fertile green field, but then the Shattering literally tore the place and the pieces of the land still float loosely in the Twisting Nether. The ground has the violaceous hue of brute magic and the arcane storm raging above it all never ceases. Thorn, destroyed, chaotic. Everything there was unstable, collapsing, devouring itself. The most bizarre creatures made up of brute mana wander aimlessly, while some big chunks of rock float by the edge of the land, still infused with arcane power - and everytime I return to this place, it seems worse. It was as ironic as it was tragic that our search for hope took us to such a hopeless place.

But there was life there too. Kirin'Var was once a small village that served as base to Kirin'Tor mages when the Alliance sent their forces to Draenor. The village suffered deeply when the Shattering occurred, but it survived. Clinging to the cliff, facing the Twisting Nether, it survived. I admire the survivors for such spirit, living in such a chaotic place and seeing the land crumbling around them, while the only thing they could do was to keep on living. They were brave.

But they didn't survive us.

With that silky voice that made me shiver, filled with so seductive hope and promises, Kael'thas told us they were a threat, and we didn't question him. How could we? He was our Prince, our hope, our light. We were such idiots.

And so we fell upon the village with everything we had: a group of Kael'thas' most talented magi against a bunch of Kirin'Tor magi already struggling for survival in such a harsh land. They could barely react to our attack as we marched on them and destroyed a place they'd gotten used to calling home, burning houses to the ground. They could barely react when their children and elderly succumbed to us, writhing in pain from curses and screaming in agony. They could barely react because it was so fast, and we were too strong.

When the attack occurred, my blood pounding at my ears muffled the voices in my head trying to grab my attention, and for a moment, all I knew was the thrill.

It is when chaos falls upon a battle, and it always does, that I truly feel alive. I've heard that we don't live fully our lives because we rarely are - really are - in the present. We spend too much time thinking of the past or future. But in a battle, you're always living the present moment. There's where I feel I belong, I know there's where I'm supposed to be.

The elves invaded the city in a wave of crimson and gold, a tsunami of fire and death, filling the main streets and spreading through the smallest alleys. I remember going through an alley to catch the people trying to escape using the back doors, and a small group of elves followed along. My first victim was a man getting out of his house with a cleaver he barely had time to swing - the moment I saw him, I eagerly cast upon him a spell that enveloped his head in a glorious halo of flames and torment. I always found the patterns the dancing fire created while consuming flesh beautiful, hypnotizing and I could just stand there and watch. But through pain and agony, he screamed and insisted on trying to swing his cleaver at us, blindly, running to us with his head on fire; at least until I threw a fireball that made him fly a couple of yards before hitting the ground, motionless. I paid no mind to the farmer with a fork running to me, with the weakest imitation of a battlecry upon his lips - Neph quickly saw to him, putting him to the ground, writhing in pain from his casted curses while I took care of a swordsman trying to get him from behind. We had such a synchrony that is hard to achieve; it takes time to master it, but it seemed like a dance. We danced the dance of the doom-bringers by the song of the despaired, the screams of the defeated, while they pirouetted through the ballet of corpses-to-be, spinning around in pain while the flames insisted on being their partners. Neph was my partner, and he took care of me, allowing no harm to descend upon me - and I did the same to him.

The scent of despair is intoxicating, the chills of fear, exciting. It all takes me to a higher state of mind, where a sheer mist covers my mind and dulls all that is unnecessary: pain, doubt, empathy. My mind seems even sharper, my thoughts even faster. My blood boils and arcane power rush wildly through my veins, and out of a mere thought, the flames are born. Yes, I love the flames. I weave the flames that, as much slaves as lovers to me, are always hungry to devour the dead and the living. Yes, I love the flames, indeed.

And so, for something to pierce that inebriating mist and grab my attention, it must be something big. A faint restlessness grew in the back of my head, and soon enough a voice echoed louder and louder. Soon I understood this voice was asking questions: Why? Why were we doing it? Why were they a threat? Since when did the Kirin'Tor become a threat? Why did we slaughter beaten dogs? Why did we fall upon a shattered village, in the end of a shattered world? Why? Why? Why?

Soon enough that voice in my head was telling me - screaming at me - that I didn't belong there. Not to that fight. When we were ordered to retreat, I almost felt relieve, but that relieve was short lived.

I'm sure our retreat must have brought hope for the survivors of our first assault, but then Kael'thas annihilated their hope by releasing a mana bomb on the village. It was devastating. When the bomb touched the ground and exploded, a wave of violet arcane power spread all over the village and dragged every building and living being in miles - it reminded me of the break of a dam, where the waters are too powerful for anyone to fight against. All that is left now is the carcass of some more resilient buildings and the ghosts of the villagers.

The elves rejoiced, victory in our hands, watching the doom of our enemies from a safe distance. I felt my mouth dry and my voice abandoned me. There was something wrong in that picture.

"My love?" I heard that soothing voice behind me and turned. It was Neph, and he seemed worried about me. He never left my side during the attack, and I knew that for him the bloodshed had the same effect it had on me. In a different way, since it wasn't the dancing flames he loved - it was the agony and pain in the subjugated enemies. It was different, but I understood him - I truly understood him. He was blinded by it, however, and didn't realize my hesitation. He only noticed something odd when I didn't seem so satisfied and wasn't cheering up with the rest of the group. "Is there something wrong, my love?" he asked.

I nodded, and for just a moment my tongue got stuck. "I'm fine," I told him. "Just a little tired."

His sweet smile shed some light into my heart, but not even that, not even his arms around me, not even his hungry lips and passionate kiss were enough to erase the seeds of doubt born inside me that day.

There was something terribly wrong in that picture.

"Seems like you participated quite actively in some of Kael'thas crimes," said the man. "You participated on the attack to Kirin'Var, you killed draenei, Kirin'Tor mages..."

"I even helped to build the mana bomb," Aiwyn added, her gaze lost on a spot well beyond the balcony and the beautiful night outside. "And I'm still under the impression that something that happened while I was under Kael'thas' service will come back to haunt me."

The man just shrugged.

"Let me get this straight, then," he said. "Sometime after the fall of Kirin'Var you went back to the remains of the village to remember your honorable prowess," he continued, but the sarcasm on his voice was not bothering her. "Did something else happen there?"

"I was going to get there. Shut up and listen."

There was no feeling of achievement or pride when I walked through the broken village, as much as our Prince insisted we should be proud. But for me, there was only some sort of sorrow, regret. Here and there I saw a ghost that kept doing what he did during his life, unaware of his current state, ignoring me completely. I started to get frustrated as I saw a man trying to fix a fence that was not there anymore; and on the other side of the road there was a little girl still playing with her doll, alone. I'm not sure why, but wild and mindless rage blazed inside me. Where did all that rage come from? Even that cold snake in my stomach, my addiction, stood back in fear as something else was awakening. It was shapeless, it was strong, and it was fire.

My denial quickly succumbed to this feeling, and before I could feel it suffocating me, I just gave vent to that rage. I quickly started to cast my flames again, as if I could explode if I kept it inside me, and the first victims of my wrath were the ghosts of the man and the girl.

Fire.

Big balls of fire enveloped my hands before they were tossed at them - in the last moment their heads finally turned to me, but then they were already struggling against the flames the same way they did in life, and the more they struggled, the faster the flames enveloped and consumed them. Even as ghosts, as sheer reflections of what they were, they were clinging to this world. And the flames consumed their soul the same way they consumed their flesh, only this time the flames brought them freedom and peace. Those tormented souls needed to be released from this world so they could rest in peace, but that was not my thought when I started to walk down the village and attacked every single thing I found. How did they dare to stand there, as proof of my mistake? Pointing out I was wrong - how did they dare?!

I walked, aimlessly, setting ghosts on fire. I walked, and that time the flames gave me no pleasure. I walked, and I had no idea where my wrath was taking me.

Of course, even if I directed my rage to them, eventually I realized I was angry with myself. I was so stupid; I should have noticed earlier we weren't walking the path of hope and cure. We weren't going to bring back glory to our people, not like that. There was not glory in that coward's attack, there was no...

"Aiwyn?"

I stopped. I have no idea how much I walked, but as I looked back, I saw a trail of recently charred ground, the remains of some buildings burning from fresh flames. I was ready to attack again, whoever it was, but then I stopped just in time. Just ahead, by the entrance of a building, there was an elf. A living one, carrying Kael'thas symbol, just like me. He was tall and had very pale blond hair; crouched, he seemed to be examining something on the ground. When he stood up, straightening his light and elegant robes, I could almost hear the crackling of old bones. He was Voren'thal, one of Kael'thas most trusted advisors.

"Is everything alright, child?" he asked me, hesitating in approaching me for a moment. "You seem disturbed."

My flames and my rage immediately faded. Voren'thal had an air of tranquility about him that made me feel as unbalanced and instable as a green leaf reacting to every gust of my feelings, even in my most stable moods. He seemed like a trusting person, regardful. And it was enough to make me ashamed of my rage and lower my hands and my eyes.

"The ghosts," I said the first thing that came to my mind. "They were disturbing me."

He nodded, and as my rage visibly faded before the cool winds of his serenity, he started to approach.

"I know what you mean," he said, as he stood by my side and looked around. Taking a closer look at him, I noticed a hint of sorrow in his voice and a wrinkle of concern. "I believe that deep down they know they aren't alive anymore. And yet they cling to the realm of the living... It is disturbing to know that such hope is useless. It won't change their fate."

His words echoed in my head, and I couldn't help but think he seemed to be reading my thoughts. But I couldn't tell him of my doubts, even if it was so tempting to seek advice from an older and wiser person. After all, he was our Prince's counselor, and I just realized how my doubts could be taken as treason.

Voren'thal looked back to the path I came from, and again shame flushed my face and I looked away. Now I was regretting my loss of control, even if brief and faint.

"You have a very distinctive magic signature, you know that?," he told me. "It is very... passionate."

"I heard that before," I answered. "But it's not enough to conceal the effects of the mana bomb."

He agreed, since he felt it too. Even so long after the bomb exploded, the place was still crackling and the air was still thick from residual arcane magic. It was like a magnetic field, prickling me and ruffling my hair.

"You helped to build it, right?" he asked me, even though he already knew it.

"Yes, but I never knew that it would be used against-," I stopped abruptly, thinking I should chose my words more carefully. I couldn't give him reasons to believe I was unhappy with our situation - no one could question my loyalty, or else I would end up in a very bad situation, not only for myself, but for Neph.

But Voren'thal didn't seem to want to scold me. He seemed to understand me, and perhaps - just perhaps - he even agreed with me.

"I was trying to see if it was possible to capture some of this residual arcane power," he stated. "Such a waste...," he took a look at the Violet Tower, and his gaze saddened even more. "But we should return to Tempest Keep, child. It is getting late."

"You're right, of course," I answered, as I started to prepare to teleport us back. "Allow me."

After that, I can even risk saying Voren'thal was trying to meet and talk to me alone. He caught me on another rage outburst a few days after that, when I was at the library alone, late at night. Neph was working on some obscure and secret project and I couldn't sleep without him, so I went to the library and tried to study a way of curing our addiction using herbs - again. At some point I got so frustrated I threw all the books on a table to the ground. I was about to scream my frustration when Voren'thal walked in and stopped when he saw the mess I just made.

"Did I come in a bad moment?" he asked politely.

"I... no... It was just... a spider," I said. I'm a terrible liar. Don't judge me.

"I heard you hate spiders, indeed," he said, amused, as he started to help me organizing the books again. Once again ashamed, I organized the books silently, avoiding eye contact. "You seem to be working too hard, dear. What are you doing here, so late?"

"I was studying, trying to find some way of curing the addiction with herbs," I answered. With the corner of my eyes I noticed a small smile on his lips. When we were finished, Voren'thal surprisingly sat before me and stared at me for a moment.

"I need to talk to you, child."

What would Voren'thal, the Seer, have to say to me? I started to grow apprehensive and restless for a moment, since I remembered our last encounter on the ruins of Kirin'Var; but that quickly faded. The elf was serious, but his serenity was contagious and soon fear abandoned my heart.

"I'm recruiting some of the most talented elves to join me," he started, his eyes set firmly on mine. "Our Prince has charged me with a very important mission, and I want you among our ranks."

It was an honor, of course, to be recruited by Voren'thal in person, although I feared for him, for he was frail. But I wasn't in the position to question him.

"I would be honored, Voren'thal," I answered. "What is this mission about?"

"We are going to take Shattrath city," he replied.

"Wait a moment," said the man abruptly. "Voren'thal? Shattrath? You don't mean to tell me you were there when...?"

"Will you just shut up?" Aiwyn replied. "I'm gonna get there..."

The silence that followed was suffocating. My mouth flinched, and I blinked far too many times. It was easy for him to read me, like an open book. It was Kirin'Var all over again - once again, we were going to fall with the best and brightest upon a shattered and weakened city. Kael'thas was firmly set on a path I wasn't sure to be the right one, anymore. What should I do? What should I tell his trusted advisor? What would Voren'thal think of my hesitation?

All my doubts passed before my eyes, but I needed an answer right away. I feared Voren'thal would take me as a traitor, but he was such a reasonable man that I needed to risk it. For some reason, I trusted Voren'thal; and it surprised me to realize I was starting to trust old and wise Voren'thal more than I trusted our Prince. Voren'thal reminded me of my Master, and I trusted my Master with my life.

"Voren'thal, do you think this will get us any closer to our purpose here?" I asked him as I looked away. I realized he was also choosing his words carefully as he answered, so I faced him again.

"Yes," he answered slowly. "Though maybe not the way our Prince believes."

It is so hard to describe how meaningful that was; how he managed to clearly state, by his voice, by his gaze, his words were more than it could seem. Were we really on the same page? Were we really talking about it? It was frustrating. I knew nothing of that subtle art of communicating through smiles and gestures and stares. I knew nothing about using words to say more than they actually are. I struggled to understand what he was trying to tell me - if he was trying to tell me something - and it was frustrating to notice I was failing.

"I... I'm not sure, Voren'thal. Shattrath..." I started to mumble, without giving my words much thought.

"It won't be another Kirin'Var, Aiwyn," he said firmly, patiently waiting for the information to sink in. "I promise."

My heart was trying to get out of my chest, beating wildly. I felt the weight of fate that moment, and I knew my decision would be some sort of mark in my life, and I was right. Had I answered anything else, it would be drastically different. So, I answered:

"Alright. I'll join your ranks, Voren'thal."

He seemed pleased.

"Good," he said, as he stood up. "I'll keep you updated."

"Voren'thal," I called him back, as an important issue crossed my mind. "Will Neph be recruited as well?"

The light from his face seemed to fade as he turned to me, and his voice was filled with sadness.

"He is not ready, my child."

My heart sank as I fully understood it. Neph, who was always at my side, would not be there this time. Neph, my love, would be left behind. Neph, my fiancé, my life. Neph...

As the days went by, I fully understood what "ready" meant. I tried to be careful with my words, since they always seemed to bring me trouble, but I started to talk to others that were recruited to Voren'thal's army. There were degrees of knowledge of what was behind Voren'thal's mission, but I felt that everyone recruited was, at some level, unsatisfied with our Prince. We talked in whispers, secrecy and discretion, and that made me tense and stressed.

Once I found myself in the library, late at night, with an elf named Aranthal, which before that day I only knew by sight. It was starting to become routine: I would wait at the library until Neph would get released from his chores; we met there and headed to our quarters together to sleep.

The library's quietness was about to wrap me in a peaceful sleep, so soothing it was to remain there, surrounded by knowledge tamed inside books that also slept at that time. Aranthal showed up when I was staring at a book without truly reading, as if demanding its secrets to reveal themselves to me. My vision was blurred and I managed to jump, startled, when he took a seat in front of me, as I was almost slipping to a dreamless slumber, sitting upright in the chair. At first I thought he was there for the same reason I was - to study, that is. He brought books, spread scrolls in front of him and seemed ready to spend the night with his head buried in his learning.

But then we started to talk, and eventually I realized he was there for another reason. The library was empty at that moment and we could talk freely, knowing there would be no one lurking behind the shelves.

"...And, I also hear we're going to be in the same squad in our march against the draenei of Shatratth," he said, changing the subject abruptly from his previous monologue on sources of arcane dust. The sudden change left me confused, but he acted normally as if there was no flaw in the logic of his sentence. He knew how to play that game, and he was good at it.

I wasn't. I raised my eyes to him and blinked a few times, pathetically, before the information sank in. I tried to act as usual, lowering my eyes to the book again and pretending I was reading it.

"Is there any kind of strategy?" I asked him. "We suffered enough already, if we could do this with the least casualties possible..."

"There will be no casualties," he said, patiently, turning the page of his book.

"You seem rather sure," I said. "There are always casualties."

Every step he took, every word he uttered seemed calculated. At this point I realized he took his eyes off his book and set them firmly on me, as if trying to pierce me with his gaze.

"No. Casualties."

He was trying to tell me something, and I could almost feel that piece of forbidden information floating just above my head - just beyond my reach.

"What is going to happen there, Aranthal?" I said, and my lack of subtlety was enough to make him flinch a bit. But he stood there in all politeness and dignity, as if trying to teach a dumb child how to read.

"I don't know," he answered, and I couldn't say if he was lying or not. "But I trust Voren'thal's decision."

"Me too. I have this feeling," I said. "That Voren'thal wants to walk down the path of healing before worrying about glories."

Aranthal even raised his eyebrows, as if the dumb kid actually said something smart. I even got the glimpse of a small smile trying to curve his lips, but he resisted.

"That's why we turned to Kael'thas, for a start. For healing, for a cure," he said, and I was surprised to see some of that untouchable politeness melting under what seemed to be resentment - burning and unwavering resentment. "He's playing with us," he ended, echoing my Master's words.

The feeling that Aranthal knew more than he wanted to say just grew stronger as we kept talking. But at the same time I noticed that he followed the same sort of wisdom that my Master was trying to stick into my head, and so, instead of getting suspicious about him, I took that conversation as one more reason why I should trust Voren'thal. My Master and Voren'thal voiced wisdom, and I that I could trust.

"But I'm not sure it's possible to apply that technique you used to brew potions out of Flame's Cap, Aiwyn," Aranthal said, the dialogue flowing as naturally as if we've been talking about it for hours. "It's not going to work."

Once again, it took me some time to realize what was going on, but I dare say I was a bit sharper. I realized he must've changed the subject because he saw someone approaching, since he was the one facing the door. And a moment after I finished the thought, Neph approached.

"Good evening," he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Aiwyn, Aranthal. I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all, Neph'Alor," he answered, with no sign of embarrassment so far. "But I'm afraid your fiancée is getting incoherent. She wants to brew potions out of Flame's Cap."

Maybe it was because I knew Neph better than myself, but I noticed a deeper and softer hint in his voice, and the hand he put on my shoulder was slightly heavier. Protective. Possessive. Aranthal knew how to read that signals very well, but didn't seem to be bothered, discretely retracting his presence and addressing me as Neph's. Usually I would find such display of jealousy amusing, but the fact Neph almost caught me in a conversation that was heading towards dangerous issues and questions left me tense.

That night, we simply bid Aranthal farewell and left to our chambers. There was a dark cloud of grimness over Neph's head as we silently undressed and prepared to sleep. As I put on a light night gown, I started to grow restless about that unusual, awkward silence when he finally broke it.

"I didn't know Aranthal took an interest in alchemy," he said, without turning to me, as I started to braid my hair. Jealousy consuming him, burning within, he didn't even dare to think of the true nature of our conspiracies. Or so I hoped.

"He doesn't. He was just there and asked what I was studying," I said, and it was the truth. But it wasn't enough to blow away that darkness hovering over him.

"Perhaps his interests lie someplace else," he answered as he sat by the bed and took off his boots. Sometimes my charming lover seemed to be possessed by a grim and irritable demon that turned his warm affection into a cold snake. Usually I noticed this change in his spirit when he was very frustrated or, like at that moment, when he had an excuse of a reason to be jealous. He became a completely different person, immune to reason, paranoid. Very hard to handle, stubborn. But most of the times, my affection, my love, would keep that monster inside him away; it would bring out the best he had. And his best was so sweet...

I wanted to avoid that change to come upon him that moment, and so I gently sat on his lap, with no more than my night gown to cover me, lighter than the wind. He made no objection when I reached out to help him undress, starting to unbutton his robe. Every button was a challenge I took with patience, holding his gaze into my eyes and never letting go. One by one, thoroughly striping him of every inch of cloth at a time, I started to reveal his smooth and lightly golden skin. I knew the fast way through his complicated robes, but taking it slow allowed him time to see my intention in my eyes and. The absence of a tighter grip would make frustration rise until he couldn't ignore it anymore.

"And where do you think his interests lie?" I asked him.

Not even the slightest smirk curved his lips as he faced me and narrowed his eyes. Even though he didn't oppose to my touch, it wasn't enough to placate his demons. Even though he felt the sparkle of desire, he was stubborn and would still hold onto the argument.

"On something that's forbidden," he answered. "On what's mine."

"Don't be silly," I told him, as my hands exposed his chest and my lips found their way to his neck. Even though he tried to keep a tough posture, I noticed the discrete flinch when my hands discretely slid down his chest to find his buckle. "He's no match for you."

"I know that," he said, finally giving me the grace of his touch as he cupped my face and gave me a soft, light caress. "Does he?"

"Why don't you ask him?" I challenged him.

His answer was a grim grunt. There were some words on the way too, but I'll never know what they were since he was forced to stop. More feeling than actually seeing, I noticed his hands moving towards his pocket, and my thoughts traveled fast. I feared he would be reaching for another mana crystal; and I feared that some part of me wanted it, yearned for it as much as I yearned for my lover's touch. I couldn't stand another defeat; I couldn't just stand and watch as my Flame suffocated under our bedsheets, as good as that sounded. As right as that felt.

I acted first, impulsively, aggressively. Before he could reach for anything, or do anything, I pulled him down roughly and attacked his body with lips and teeth. His arms got stuck in his half undressed robes and so, with limited moves, I found him vulnerable, heart open and exposed chest. I could even picture the battle going on inside his head at the moment I felt his skin with my lips. His body was tense, his arms trying to break free, resisting the spell of my warm lips dancing on his neck and sliding down his chest. He wanted to win the argument and keep that cloud of grimness out of stubbornness and pride, but his body answered promptly to my kisses. My lips left a trail of shivers as they slid down his torso, and before long, I knew I already succeeded in taking his mind away from the argument and into the sweet fields of desire. His breath became a panting and he was not resisting anymore, grabbing the sheets and embracing the moment, as well versed lips found their way to his pleasure, wandering lower. And lower. And lower.

My affection melted him that night, and I felt terrible for concealing information from him - I felt I was betraying him, my love, my life. My future husband. I felt like stabbing my own heart.

That was not a game for me, of schemes and subtlety, and I feared I would fail any time, so I tried to talk as little as I could. At some point, seeing how nervous I was, Voren'thal told me he had a vision about the future of our people, and assured me he would do his best to put us on the path he deemed to be the right.

Looking back at some of Kael'thas recent deeds, my faint seeds of doubt bloomed. Talking to others that felt the same, it now shaped a feared word:

Treason.

Were we really about to betray our Prince? No, that was not it. Kael'thas was the one who betrayed us; he led us to a path of self-empowerment, and fed us hope so we could keep by his side. Like my Master said, he was attracting moths to the light, and the thought made anger boil in my stomach. We were such idiots.

But that was not the worst part for me. Neph was thriving by walking down that path, the Prince's path, and it hurt me to realize I couldn't trust to tell him anything about Voren'thal's true intention. I felt a hand squeezing my heart as, for the first time, I was concealing information from him. He felt some restlessness in me, but he thought it was about the battle per se; he seemed quite sure we would just crush and take Shattrath and I would be back to his arms before long.

I realized what was wrong with the picture of the devastated village of Kirin'Var. The lingering sorrow, the deep and maddening sadness. It reminded me so much our fallen kingdom, the beautiful city jewel of Silvermoon crumbled and the weeping of the survivors. Were we fated to become the same sort of monster that destroyed our kingdom? Neph embraced his inner monster with such satisfaction that I could even wonder if those monsters weren't already there, all along. I couldn't even dare think about that.

Neph wasn't going with me, but if only I could make him see - truly see - how that path we were following was the wrong one, maybe... just maybe... he would follow us on this new and enlightened path Voren'thal promised.

Maybe.