Reality was just a little bit disjointed for Claude Faustus. He saw double. Quadruple. It was like he had eight eyes, or maybe only one- or maybe his eyes weren’t on his face, but on his hands and legs. Maybe on the back of his neck. His teeth could have eyes littering their surfaces like cavities- and maybe his heart was made of irises and pupils. Maybe he was just one big eye, seeing and observing- but unfeeling and unthinking. Blinking to get the dust out, perhaps shedding a tear, but certainly never in front of anyone else.