Following a slap across his face, the man endured everything that came out of miss Annabella’s beautiful but enraged lips. He remained quiet through the whole ordeal, not even touching his painful cheek. He knew very well that she wouldn’t listen to a word he has to say. Not before venting her piled-up anger first.

She was panting, tired of yelling and hitting him. Finally, it was his turn to provide an explanation.

"I’m deeply sorry. That I am. Why I never told you sooner is ... well, because the reason behind my action is somewhat peculiar and I wasn’t sure if you’d accept it," Smythe looked regretful.

"Why?" she sobbed now. Crouching and resting her face in her palms.

Offering her a handkerchief, Smythe continued.

"You see ... I suffer from an illness I’ve never heard of in my whole life and hence can’t offer you its name, but the symptoms are ... I see animals ... no ... all living creatures as ... well, not as they are."

"What do you mean?" she stood up and wiped her cheeks with his cloth that smelled of perfume.

"I see a twisted variant, a nightmare version of each thing I lay my eyes upon. During the long years, I’ve grown accustomed to it in the case of humans, as they are the ones I’ve seen the most. But every other creature ... no, an animal I encounter still looks like a distorted mockery of nature. I know how they are supposed to look, mind you, I’ve seen them in books, but being put in front of a real one is different."

"So ... you killed my ... because you thought it was ... "

"Yes. Precisely. Mister Puffles escaped your room and unfortunately went straight into mine. I was taken by surprise and killed him instinctively. I only realized what I’d done after I’d put my glasses back on. Ivan took care of the mess and promised not to say a thing."

"What do you mean glasses?" she was curious at the peculiar notion.

"Ah yes, these ... " Smythe put them back on now that the slaps on his face were done," ... these are my other help, along with the cane. A help with my more problematic defect. I went to numerous psychiatrists, you see, and only one was able to find a solution if we’ll be generous enough to call it that.
He managed to convince my subconsciousness that by looking through those glasses, everything was normal. And after countless hours of psychotherapy, I’ve gained the ability to see things as they were ... as long as I wear those," he touched the rim of his square glasses.

"Why ... didn’t you wear them then ... when you killed ... "

"I’m so sorry. I don’t wear them in bed. It was a string of really unfortunate circumstances," he looked down.

"It’s ... fine. I mean, there’s nothing you can do now. At least I know the truth. I could help you, maybe ... I could study you and make a breakthrough. Who knows how many people out there suffer from this illness no one is talking about? Probably they are either enduring it or are labeled mad. If you would allow me, I’d try my best to find a cure."

"Well ... that is unexpected. I guess ... thank you," he said awkwardly.

"I’m not doing this for you though. I’m doing it for everyone and ... for Mr. Puffles. I want him to be the last victim of this terrible condition."

"That’s quite alright. I will help however I can," said Smythe.

They returned to the house. Leah and Pickman already went to sleep, probably a bit intoxicated by the wine, so the trio decided it would be best to go to sleep as well.

* * *

This time he was closer. His theory was correct and this was what confirmed it. The more he went north, the closer he would start in his dream. Closer to his destination, that is. The source of a haunting melody and ecstatic yellow light. As he moved from the Vapeur Republic in the south, to the northern parts of the world, reaching the very end of what was known to man, his dreams were more and more clear and satisfying. It was on this very island that he was able to see it for the first time. But in order to see it clearly he needed to go further. The icebreaker is arriving tomorrow and would take them off the charted territory into the unknown ocean. That would surely help him with achieving the goal. He had to know. He had to see it.
He had to feel it.

In his dream, he started closer, and from previous experiences, he was sure the time he had until the abrupt awakening was short. The nightmare was always the same in length, no matter if he slept a whole night or was awoken by someone.
He hurried. Ran as he could never run in reality. At one moment, he tripped upon one of the ribs protruding through the floor, and unable to regain his balance by grasping at the slippery surfaces, he fell face first, breaking his glasses in the process.
Standing up he held one of his eyes that bled onto his white glove.

I must ... continue ... I must see it!

Running again, he took a wrong corner in the branching tubes and ended up outside. The sky was of a color he couldn’t fathom. Unimaginable colors were all around him. The alien flora was unsettling and beautiful.

This can’t be ... No matter what kind of color is reflected back from a thing however abstract, the human eye can only receive a certain spectrum and the brain can’t as well imagine new information. This ... this is madness.

And just as he was trying to make sense of what he was seeing, a creature, faster than anything he’d ever seen, suddenly floated in front of him. It looked as if a giant brain had grown a small body with no legs and had blades for arms much like a praying mantis.
In what was literally a moment shorter than a blink, one of the blades poked him in the other eye with immaculate precision.

"Aaaaargh!" he now held both of his eyes with his hands as he stumbled and fell.

It was a surreal feeling not many can even imagine. Being blind in a dream, with no visuals aside from the ones the brain imagines, was just like it is when you close your eyes, but the other senses felt as real as life itself.
He crawled his way back into the tube and tried another path, now sure he was closing in on the source of the voice. It guided him more clearly now that he didn’t have eyes to be curious.

He finally reached it. Taking off his gloves he felt it under his fingertips. The soft, smooth membrane of the organic bubble. It was enticing and arousing. He wanted what was inside of it, more than anything.
He broke the membrane with his fingers and the melody turned into a scream just a moment before he woke up.

"Hah! Ah ... .hah ... " he breathed heavily, drenched in sweat. His sheets and pillow were completely wet as if someone spilled a bucket of water over them. But none of that mattered. What was his number one concern was what he saw in front of him.

"Nothing ... " he waved his hand, then tried around the bed, "I can’t see ... I can’t see anything!", he shouted.

Annabella ran into his room not a moment after.

"What’s wrong? Are you okay?" she hurried to his side.

"I’m ... I’m blind!" his eyes were wide open and staring into nothing.

For some reason, the only thing that sprung to the mind of the young woman was to find his glasses. She searched the table and then the wooden nightstand.

"Here," she handed them over to the panicking man.

He put them on and immediately calmed down. His breathing slowed and his muscles relaxed, one by one.

"I ... ah ... thank you ... I can see again," he looked left and right in wonder, unable to grasp what he has experienced.

"That’s good," she sat next to him on the edge of the bed, "That’s good. It’s over now. You just had a nightmare again," the woman put her arms around him almost like a mother would around her child.

"No, I ... I was awake and blind. I couldn’t see. I’m sure I was awake since before you came into the room," he just moved back and forth, sounding as if he was convincing himself.

"Maybe, but it’s over now. Look, take them off and you’ll see that your sight will remain."

Listening to her soft voice and being curious about if what she said will turn out to be true, Smythe slowly removed his glasses. He stared into the bed, without looking at Annabella.

"And?" she leaned her head.

"Yes, you’re quite right ... I can see normally."

" ... Look at me Smythe," she whispered.

He was reluctant at first but then wanted to put his glasses back on.
Her hand stopped him.

"No. Look at me without them," she insisted, turning his head toward her almost forcefully. He didn’t resist much but kept his eyes closed as he faced her.

"Smythe ... "

After taking a deep breath, he opened his yellow eyes and looked at her face.

"And ... how do I look?"

" ... beautiful," he whispered, returning the embrace.

The others were sleeping soundly as the two remained in his room. The night was long and windy, but almost silent except for the sound of rhythmic banging.

The two sat on the edge of the sweaty bed, looking down at the floor in front of them.
A tree branch was hitting the glass window of the room and as Smythe turned around to look at it, he almost fell off the bed.
Putting his glasses on, he turned to have another look at what he thought he saw outside in front of the window.

"They, stopped working!" he kept taking them off and putting them on, but then, Annabella turned around to see what he was so upset with and she saw it too.

"No Smythe, that ... thing is really there. It’s not your condition. I can see it too!" she stood up and started walking backward when a sound of broken glass came from one of the empty rooms.