Sometimes I feel like I underappreciate blue...a lot, actually. I don't know, my favorite colors are various shades of red and purple along with shades of green. And black, but does that even count?

Crap this wasn't supposed to be a super cute story. Just a kind of "Aww, smiles." instead of "d'aww! How ADORABLE!"

Blue

If she closed her eyes, she was on the edge of the deck again.

Her foot was pointed and poised, just as a ballet dancer should have her foot. Not that she knew any ballet, but the dream that was already fading from her thoughts seemed to teach her a type of deathly ballet dance that she wouldn't forget even if the nightmare faded from her memory. And if she kept her eyes closed, she would leap out into the dark blue sea, plunge into its icy, stormy depths. And she would struggle for a moment, flailing for the steel safety of the ship above, but then she would accept her fate with a sick sort of mind that had a voice that she swore wasn't her own. The voice was harsh, old, dusty as if its been dead and unused for years.

Anya opened her eyes with a start. The room was the way it was supposed to be, washed in blue moonlight from the window. They were gliding over smooth ocean waters—no more stormy seas in the distance. And yet her eyes, shining into a greater cerulean in the light, frantically roved about the room as though she had unexpectedly awoken in a prison camp.

Everything was as they should be. Vlad snored gently above her, Pooka had finally calmed down and was curled about her ankles and joined Vlad in snoring, and Dmitri had remade his fake bed, sleeping with his damp back to her. His wet clothes gleamed softly in the moonbeams, giving detail to his rising and falling breaths. They were rhythmic; he had easily overcome the drama of what was probably over an hour ago now and was fast asleep on the floor of the ship.

She found it odd. He had forced her to change into her old orphan's clothes because they were dry and warm, while he did not bother to change out of anything but his trousers, hanging them up to drip-dry for tomorrow. He was by no means half-naked, he had put a pair of long-johns on, but the wet shirt he kept.

Anya blinked as she stared at him. Then blinked again. Maybe this time she could close her eyes and sleep.

Deep dark blue depths where the unknown creatures of the sea devoured her as she drowned. She opened her eyes again with a small cry, struggling to muffle her heavy breaths.

"It's been over an hour. Go to sleep, Anya." Dmitri muttered.

"I...," Anya gasped quietly, "I can't." Apparently he wasn't as asleep as she initially thought.

"No excuse," he retorted as he rolled over onto his back, rubbing his eyes, "You should be sleeping like a baby. Oh wait—," He gazed up at the ceiling as he interrupted himself, "Only men are babies."

"Right," Anya replied, pushing some force into her voice, "So why aren't you sleeping like one?"

Dmitri stared at her. They could barely make out each other's faces in the dim light.

"I don't have to answer that."

"Uh-huh." She tried her hardest to make her voice sound casual, sharp like hers normally was, "So you've been awake this entire time?"

"Yeah. And I've been counting every time you've almost screamed."

Anya's face flushed red in the moonlight. She thanked god that Dmitri couldn't see.

"How many times?"

"Almost twenty."

"Why would you even do that?" Anya hissed. Dmitri gained a horrible grin as he replied.

"Blackmail. Just in case. You never know, right?"

"You slimy prig!" Anya said behind her laughter, throwing a pillow that hit Dmitri in his devilish smile. Taking the pillow and putting it behind his head, he announced that it was now his, to the dismay and almost giggling refusals of Anya.

"Now children," Vlad murmured groggily. Both Anya and Dmitri stopped immediately, having not been aware that Vlad's snores had stopped almost halfway during their conversation, "No fights now, you'll lose an eye and we don't have the money for a hospital." Vlad turned over in his bed, grumbling and muttering himself back to sleep. Dmitri looked to Anya and exchanged little smiles before tossing her pillow back to her. Anya caught it and watched as he turned his back to her again. Resting her head on her pillow, she smelled the soft rain mixed with the salt of the ocean and his cheap cologne from the small damp spot the back of his head left on the pillowcase. She closed her eyes.

The vast blue stormy ocean was before her again, but when she stepped out as her eyes remained closed, she walked rather than sank.

Opening her eyes, she was greeted by the morning sun and the ports of France.