Tell me, O goddess, of that fantastic hero, the fabled hero of fantasy, who fought alone through the nights, whose unshakable faith stood against all reason, when all humanity had fled and failed...
Yet another generic fantasyscape filled with oversaturated blues and greens. On a grassy knoll dotted with perfect cherry blossoms, now in the middle of a bustling temple amidst crowds of onlookers, now in a rocky outcrop overlooking the windy desert, the scenery morphed and flashed around my eyes.
I was stuck in that dreamy, inbetween-state of confused protagonist, omnipresent narrator, and passive viewer all at the same time. In front of me, or my eyes, was your typical shrine maiden extolling the gods. Black hair, red ribbon. I don't remember much, and it's slipping away as I type, but I remember the invocation, or at least I remember that it went on, and on, and on:
Sing, O goddess, of those sunless days and sleepless nights, of the cruelties of gods and men, of the slade and brimstone burning eternally that line the path to Hades. Sing of the white knight who made it back―
The beautiful girl suddenly jerked her head, drilling her empty eyes straight into my soul. The shifting landscape settled on a vast barren plain, empty decaying buildings crumbling in the horizon. It was only a dream, I thought, as her eyes slowly rolled back into her skull. I pinched myself as hard as I could and stumbled back, tripping over myself and falling backwards, hard, on the cold, dark, ground.
It was only a dream. Then I was back in my bed, watching myself inside the screen as the camera panned back to that monster, its claws slowly reaching towards the camera and now through the screen, the skin stretched taut over its face, slowly tearing open to reveal a grotesque―
Beep beep beep.