The doctor drummed his fingers absently against his chin for a moment. He was broad shouldered and swarthy skinned; attired differently, he would have made a convincing countryman. He sighed, long and low, and after a moment said quietly, "Not mad. That is not the word I would choose. But please, do tell me about your...dreams," the way he lingered over the word made plain his discomfort at talking to Mr. Ethanson.
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SOPHIE: BtN's resident whimsical insomniac fairytale-junkie!
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“Hope is the thing with feathers"
-----Emily Dickinson
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