There is a softness to the twilight hours, the mind seems permeable, the senses grow placid and yielding, easily invaded by the fast-fading shadows of our dreams. It is in these blurry hours, when our harshest awareness must strain to come online, that we are freest. Our stricter faculties are tasked only with deciphering sight and sound, as we are not yet too wise for the impossible, they grow large, and kind, and larger still, surrounding all the curious things the dawn will banish.