That mysterious disease had overtaken Annabel. She looked about her world and saw only strings of inconsequential information, untrustworthy friends, repeated follies, chaos and mud. Desire was that thing it is. Year after year, sun following cloud, lilies opened and closed and Annabel remained unhappy. The prince, because there’s always a prince, came to rescue Annabel. He opened her mind and knit together fibrous chains of lateral geniculate nuclei into a perfect glass sphere. “Here is your new home Annabel.” And there in that gift of the imagination Annabel lived happily ever after. Relative to existing theory, the certainty of our sensory experience is only as rich as our interpretations.