[b]Neil Gaiman
It is said that scattered through Despair’s domain are a multitude of tiny windows, hanging in the void. Each window looks out onto a different scene, being, in our world, a mirror. Sometimes you will look into a mirror and feel the eyes of Despair upon you, feel her hook catch and snag on your heart. Despair says little, and is patient.[/b]
Would you like me to introduce you to mine?
You know what the really scary thing about bad dreams? It’s that something’s going on in your head, and you can’t control it. I mean, It’s like there’s these bad worlds inside you. But it’s just you… it’s like you’re betraying yourself.
Really, come on, how do we wrap our heads around this?
There’s a magic you take from death. Something leaves the world, something else comes into it.
Really, come on, how do we wrap our heads around this?
There are little pockets of old time in London, where things and places stay the same, like bubbles in amber, she explained. There’s a lot of time in London, and it has to go somewhere—it doesn’t all get used up at once.
I wonder if that’s true in Baltimore, he thought.
I wondered, as I wondered so often when I was that age, who I was, and what exactly was looking at the face in the mirror. If the face I was looking at wasn’t me, and I knew it wasn’t, because I would still be me whatever happened to my face, then what was me? And what was watching?
And that’s true even if you buy a new mirror.
He was alone in the darkness once more, but the darkness became brighter and brighter until it was burning like the sun.
Must be an insanity thing, he figured.