When I dream

Dreams, to your understanding, were strange and fleeting things.

Rarely could you ever find a time where they would become clear enough to the point where you could paint out an image that didn't turn into a mess of obscure thoughts and events, and much less even touch the surface of manipulating them.

In fact, you thought to yourself, you quite disliked dreaming in general. There were simply too many strange visions and uneasy nightmares that appeared for your own comfort. If you had somehow experienced anything lucid in the past, your brain must have long since forgotten about it.

Your internal musings go on for quite some time, before you finally come down to the irony of your current situation.

For you, the anti-dreamer, has now found yourself placed smack dab in the center of a plain yet unmistakeabley dreamt up room (what exactly gave you such an epiphany of your current state has yet to be discovered). The looming knowledge that you are probably "lucid dreaming" excites some childish part within you dearly (maybe you can actually fly in this one). However, another stirs with a certain feeling of uneasieness.

The walls surrounding you open up to some sort of black podium with metallic dome linings the bottom of it.