The soft click of the door was as delicate as the sigh that followed. Mr. Harglass didn't so much enter Dr. Alisa Morris's office as drift into it, a wisp of mauve chiffon and quiet grace. He moved with a fluid, deliberate slowness, each step a small dance of balance on the tall, stiletto heels of his knee-high leather boots. There was no trace of the angular, restless man who had first arrived; he had been replaced by this vision of serene femininity.

He wore a romantic, dusty-pink mauve midi chiffon dress that seemed to float around him. The deep V-neckline and embellished sequined bodice shimmered softly, drawing the eye to the elegant column of his neck, circled by a matching high-neck beaded choker. Sheer bishop sleeves cascaded over his hands, which he held with a gentle, curled delicacy. The skirt flowed and swayed, revealing sheer black tights that disappeared into his boots. Delicate drop earrings trembled with his every movement, and his shoulder-length wavy dark brown hair was styled in soft, artful waves. Warm makeup enhanced his cheekbones, and his lips were painted a bold, unapologetic berry-red.

He approached the familiar leather sofa not with the directness of old, but with a series of small, polite steps, as if navigating a ballroom floor. He arranged himself upon it with a ladylike precision, first smoothing the skirt beneath him before lowering himself in one slow, controlled motion. He lay back, crossing his ankles with an exquisite grace, the pointed toe of one boot extended just so.

Dr. Morris crossed her legs as she took a seat upon her dark violet velvet club chair, her notepad resting untouched on her lap. She simply observed, allowing the silence to settle, filled only by the soft rustle of chiffon.

"You seem very at peace today," Dr. Morris murmured, her voice a gentle match for the atmosphere.

Mr. Harglass turned his head toward her, a slow, elegant movement. "Oh, I am, Doctor. Truly," he replied, his voice a soft, melodic tenor, every word carefully enunciated and imbued with a warmth that hadn't existed before. "It's a lovely feeling, isn't it? To just… be. To not feel that dreadful, scratchy urgency anymore." He gestured with a languid hand, his fingers tracing the sequined pattern on his bodice. "I was thinking on my way here, how this dress just feels so… right. The color is so gentle, and the way it moves… it’s like wearing a poem."

Dr. Morris smiled. "A poem. That's a beautiful way to put it."

"It's the only way," he said, his berry-red lips curving into a serene smile. "Before, everything was so… linear. So harsh. But now, I find myself thinking in curves. In feelings. I'll see a lovely shade of lipstick, and my whole day just brightens. Or I'll feel the breeze on my neck, and it feels like a little secret just for me. It's all just… so much more beautiful."