I blink and stare at what used to be a mirror.

My reflection is gone, replaced by images of knights riding wyverns, doing battle with demons in the sky. The sun through this vision is bright, and I feel it’s warmth; my hands are still under the sink, and the water is cold.

I glance back at the bathroom door. Back at the vision. There’s a man up on his stirrups, screaming a war cry. I watch him for a second. Glance again at the door.

_Should… should I call someone?_

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When I, for the third and final time, peek back at what used to be a mirror, I find that, no, actually, it is just a mirror again.

I pause. Run my wet hand over my face. I stare at the mirror and see my double chins, my receding hairline.

“Holy shit,” I mutter. “No more Rumpel Minze for me tonight.”

I turn off the sink, try to dry my hands—the air dryer still doesn’t work and probably never will—and leave the bathroom to rejoin the fellas.

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