W brings Rose back to the apartment and makes sure she is resting comfortably. When she wakes up late morning, he pours her a special tea to restore her balance, then serves polenta with a fresh tomato sauce, topped with grated parmigiano-reggiano.

"I can feel the cornmeal soaking up the bad vibes," she smiles, enjoying her meal in bed.

They sit together comfortably, no need to talk, while W works to clear and anchor her.

"You're still flighty," he says seriously after about ten minutes of introspection, "what's up?"

She's quiet for a while, finishes her tea, sets the earthenware mug on the wooden bed table, and frowns as if she'd been caught. "Nothing," she fakes, "just tired, I guess." but W isn't buying it. He has been auditing attendance at her shows and has noticed a demographic shift - more middle aged white men have been turning up.

When Rose started performing in person they assumed, maybe too naively, that the people attending were interested in self-improvement. Her methods seemed like a natural way to discover those sympathetic to the TNAP cause. But now W is asking if their ever-present internet troll problem could be growing. Are they attracting hate? Have the trolls started showing up in person?

"Something was off," confesses Rose, "but it wasn't in anyone's thoughts or attitudes - those seemed sincere. I felt dissonance at a level that would require much more talent. I haven't encountered a signal that invasive since my life in the monastery."

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