In The Dim Bliss of Narcissus | Open to Erwins
The hours pass unnoticed. As invisible as air, ever-present and oft ignored. The Commander hardly remembers one moment to the next in the hypnotic flicker of three AM firelight, all but burnt to ashes.
He's tired and the weight of his eyes multiples by the minute. Exhaustion claiming its unwilling victim, latching and dragging down, down, down.
He's asleep before his head hits the mahogany. As the empty cognac snifter slips from his fingers and falls to the carpet with a distant, heavy thud.
The room flickers and changes its glow. It's a transition so smooth into what must be a dream that Erwin notices nothing. Simply shifts as some small part of him registers the sound, muffled and miles away.
It's like a mirror. All of it, and he finds himself glimpsing through the reflection from the outside in. The Commander's no longer at his desk, but standing in the doorway...
Gazing at himself, seated in the chair.
Impossible.
