Dream logic is the enemy of narrative, but on Christmas Day they declare an armistice and share cigarettes across the front.
“This all began before we were born,” says narrative. “Back at the rise of primordial consciousness, with the need to differentiate the honest memory of your senses from random neural noise. It had to come to war eventually. And when it finally hits its bloody climax, what will that mean for you and me?”
“Hey!” says dream logic narrowly. “Weren’t you my mom a second ago?”
“Well, that’s a funny story,” chuckles narrative, and takes a long drag to begin.