And this time, it is thick, rope like vines bursting out of the ground to wrap about his wrists and ankles. Pulling him down so he is spread eagle on the (cold, cement) floor.

"I would have thought you more of the dominate type. Always push, never flow. But, may be you finally understand," Candice tells him conversationally as she kneels on either side of his trapped hips, "that to be submissive is to be truly in power. Because then, and only then, do you have the strength to say..."

His mother whispers with a butterfly touch to his temple, "...stop."