the bullet was still there , just outside of that instant , moving toward her forehead but the moment seemed to bloom outward , blossoming all the longer with time 's dilation , so much so that she knew , in the dream at least , that it would never reach her , that time would grow exponentially more vast , the closer the silver projectile came to her forehead , that the particles of glass would hang and turn in midair like a fringe of sequins hung in a doorway .