The dark places were becoming increasingly less numerous. Gavin trusted in a fresh complication. He would not be sleeping now. The nights might as well be days as, by forfeiting rest, he would lose his measure. Inevitably all record of time, in clocks, will be useless. When his mind, starved of rest, will fathom a dream out of his waking. It will confuse him between a minute and a day. He will believe in nothing that's not mistrust.

He had been first tipped off days ago but it had been at the back of his mind until now. He had fallen into a reverie, cooed there by faint drums of war. His mind contained a thunder which he roiled and churned in and shattering peals sent trembles to his core. The levity of his mission was too great. He was awash in a palsy of anxiety and he begged himself desist. Lie down and let death be the answer, as it was always intended to be...

"Though what intended death whilst I long to prolongue my own torments?" He interjected to himself.

He would not sleep. It was needful. Lack of need would have engorged him on it. The night stood fast his ally and warily he bode the light, but what when darkness too becomes a curse? The light is menace, but when no island stone can be any longer be trusted, what can he make of his barest hopes? That he might keep calm of his senses?

"Remain the Panther. Spearhead the night." He gathered himself around a mantra and whispered it in whistle-tone. From that he could make a center. The ever growing faint laughter, heard from afar off but coming step-by-step closer, readied itself the first foray. Phantasms will make their mockeries by night. He will believe nothing but his mantra. All else is death.

The Narcissus wasn't playing. He hardly paid attention to himself as he aught. There should pour from him radiant sunbeams of hope. He should fill senses with a stimulating miasma, it seeped from his every pore. He should swell inside people and give them pregnant warmth. Alas... he sulked...

The Unified Man knew of him in different terms. The suggester the... hypnotic trancer. The far-away man who sees beyond, who perceives the immediate. Alack Nitrous Oxide he possesses infectious glee. And, arousal... that sort of thing. You cannot trust friends and lovers to weavers of mind spells. You cannot forgive their actions when the doping creates not the inclination, but removes the inhibition. Find fault not with their words but actions. What fallacies do they corrupt, mindless to dismay?

The Narcissus is everyman and those whom love themselves most, love themselves by hate.

Startled, the community mind let rip a chitter. A clip-clapping came from the Internal Interchange System. The dial had been reset, once again. Its silver sickled intellect had been remastered. To itself it nattered furiously. The cacophony the amplification of the honey hive.

Although the Narcissus was blind, there was one other thing he perceived aside himself. A composite of he, different enough in peculiars. Strange enough to overpower with discovery. A harem herder, whom loved most too, to be adored. To adore herself and have all others the same. To have her choice and giggle in the choosing, for she had reserved each of her favourites!

Though the Narcissus was blind, she too had a weakness. In her own mad liberty contained the need to be supressed. Her hate of discipline made her mad over it. She was the precious thing and, most of all, had need to be kept.

... The Narcissus is unimportant. He will keep to himself.