This is the part of the story where the hero stares into the mirror. He examines the cracks in his fading skin, the sallow glare of age. He feels it sinking into his bones, this cruel mortality. He puts the bottle down. He frees it from its servitude for but a second. If it were a child, it would scream, plead to be reunited with its master, its mother, its home. His grip, his maw, his gullet, his...