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"Let me tell you on a little secret, well, it won't matter since you'll soon know the real definition of insanity, nay, the true meaning of what is beyond insanity!"
"So beg, bow, and praise the True God! Prostrate yourself, weep, and beg for forgiveness at the feet of his statue,"
"Lest he agrees, for you are NOT the Exalted!"
✰✰✰✰✰
A crack appeared in a memory, as if it were a piece of fragile glass, spreading into a spiderweb of more cracks. Small, tiny fragments started falling off, as if the memory was collapsing.
Yet—
The cracks stopped suddenly.
It turned grey-yellowish, except for a boy, who had dropped his smile into something more neutral—his pitch-black eyes, indistinguishable between pupil and iris, looking up.
The boy climbed out of the image, balancing himself at the edges of the memory, as if it had turned into a 2D image, before jumping out and looking around at the dark environment he found himself in.
He closed his eyes, considering what to do, before he felt a shift in his location and slowly opened his eyes.
A mirror was placed in front of him. No, the whole area was filled with mirrors from all angles—whether in front of him, below his feet, on the ceiling, behind him, diagonally at the corners of the room.
All the mirrors of the room reflected one image:
His image.
In front of a certain mirror, he found a grey metal chair.
Instinctively, he knew it was for him and walked to it, his footsteps stepping on the mirrors on the ground, causing them to crack—yet the boy did not get injured, as if his body were a ghost's, with weight.
He reached the chair and stood in front of it, observing it for a few seconds before deciding to try to push it.
To no surprise, the chair did not move a single centimeter from its original spot. The boy, as if nothing had happened, sat on the chair and placed his hands beside him, looking at the mirror in front of him.
Not blinking, he sat like that for a minute, two, three, ten, fifty—
An hour, two, four, eight—
Half a day. A day. Two. Three. Four.
A week.
Two.
A month.
A year.
Ten years.
A hundred years.
A millennium.
Two. No, three. No—no—tens of millennia. No, no, no. A million years had passed.
Time started moving frantically, the gears of time losing their initial meaning and slowly decaying over the passage of time.
The boy's eyes started becoming heavy, his vision starting to blur after not sleeping for a while. He had lost track of time, stopping at the count of around 5,241,093,824,872 seconds.
His eyelids slowly began to close, and his body, still sitting in the chair, started swaying slightly before he completely fell asleep.
"Has it ever came upon your mind, that just maybe, maybe less than a second has passed ... ? Maybe not, right? No, its a guaranteed no"
A voice came from the glass mirror.