Selhma was a little confused about everything that had happened today, but that didn't really matter. Was it even a day? Weeks? Months, even? The Lich King's dominion had made it hard to tell, but it felt like a day, even though she knew she'd been gone for much longer. Nontheless, it had happened now, and there was no use crying over spilt milk! She liked that phrase. But...
Sleep was when rationality and order sank in; Selhma thrived on chaos.
Here, the inescapable regularity of her breathing, the gentle ticking of the clock marking the oh so slow passage of time and the... well, that's one habit her body had broken 'today'. She still breathed, though she suspected she didn't need to. At least the heartbeats had stopped now. Anyway, the monotony drove her close to insanity - dreams offered the only escape.
Flashwit wasn't a dream, right?
Selhma felt the dreadful drop at the base of her stomach as she fully realised the implications that all this might have been a dream. "Today", she'd killed hundreds, maybe thousands, including someone who apparantly knew her quite well, and had claimed to be a friend of hers; in sleep, the guilt overcame her. She couldn't sing, she couldn't change the subject, and she couldn't run away. But... today she'd met Flashwit, and he was something different. He didn't even suggest she was crazy, not even one little bit. That was the bit that, when she suddenly found herself lying awake in her cot in Gnomeregan, she was horrified to find wasn't true. "Wake up Selhma, it's time for breakfast." "Okay Mummy... give me a few moments, I had a bad dream..." Selhma woke up, got dressed, ate breakfast, and went to work. She served three customers, one of whom was Goby Blastenheimer, and two of whom were Flashwit.
Then she woke up again, in a cold sweat (though, having no body heat, she supposed there wasn't any other way for it to be); she couldn't see Flash, but she knew from where she was in Dalaran that it hadn't been a dream. It was real, and he was real, too.
As real as she was, that was. They never had quite decided whether he was a figment of her imagination, or the other way around.
She couldn't sleep again. Not like this.