[The dream itself arrives no differently than the rest. It blooms into the consciousness of the sleeping mind, until the dream is all there is. But this time, Arthur will find himself standing amid a grand library, with aisles that seem to stretch on and on and on, books upon books, the lines of shelving interrupting amber rays of light from windows set into the walls. At the center of this library are large tables, with more books stacked upon them. Places to sit, and read, and study, and to be lost in stories.
It is all very much larger than life, but there is a surreality to it, too. Like all the books here may be changed on a whim; that not all their stories are set in stone. They are transient, but they seem infinite all the same.
Arthur will find himself at the library’s center. Dream descends stairs near what must be an exit (or an entrance?) at the other end to meet him.
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It is all very much larger than life, but there is a surreality to it, too. Like all the books here may be changed on a whim; that not all their stories are set in stone. They are transient, but they seem infinite all the same.
Arthur will find himself at the library’s center. Dream descends stairs near what must be an exit (or an entrance?) at the other end to meet him.
This will, of course, be a lucid dream.]
Welcome to my library.