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He would later reflect back on this moment and realize this is when he knew Baldwin planned to murder him. David stood.  He was exhausted.  They had been at it for hours.  


The conversation was the same as all those before it - there was a place, a very mysterious place, where all the dreams he had were real.  They were not, of course.  He was more than certain of it.  And even if they were - he had long concluded that he simply did not care.  


The Underworld.  The magic.  The… Argh!  He was truly, utterly exhausted.


He was staring now.  Through the window.  Out into the night.  His garden needed tending to.  He could see the faint sparkle of several fireflies bustling about in their whimsical, drunken manner.  This, David pondered.  This is real magic.  


"You have only but to open your eyes and see the truth, David."  Baldwin's voice came from somewhere in the pale glow behind him.  


David gazed up at the thick clouds of indigo passing over the elliptical orb in the sky.  He adjusted his spectacles and turned with a sigh.  "My eyes are open, Baldwin.  Very much so."


"The dreams, I tell you, they are an invitation.  A means by which—" 


"Dreams, yes… My dreams, Baldwin. Mine."


A long, stale silence descended upon the room.  The secondhand on the old grandfather clock ticked — a million years sweeping by between the next.  Tick.  


"You are most correct, David.  I apologize immensely.  Sometimes I can be very persistent."  Baldwin's voice was smitten.  "I shall refrain."


For now.

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