Mary Anne's avoiding sleep again; immortal or not, it's starting to show around her eyes. Still, it's quiet out here, and there's room to move. She's walked most of the way around the lake and has turned around to head back towards the bar. Odds are low of her actually heading inside; more likely she'll just make another circuit to keep herself awake.
It's not dawn yet, but that pale blue hour just before when you can almost pretend it's not morning, but evening. Mary Anne lies curled on the bed, drowsy and sated and determined not to fall asleep. She's running a lock of (Santino's) Salvatore's hair between her fingers and humming under her breath.