A young child had a dream.
It was a strange, long dream. A dream that didn't seem to have an end.
Every moment in the dream, his beating heart would ring in his ears. The desires of his soul would scream in his mind.
Yet, he couldn't act upon it.
As if he was possessed.
Nay, as if he was being puppeteered.
He lived his life, but each time he felt the need to take a decision, a crossroads that would affect his life, it felt as if he wasn't himself.
As if someone was controlling him.
It was a strange dream after all. Such strangeness was natural.
But the contents of the dream were anything but natural.
The events so real. The people so alive. The dream so bleak.
It wasn't distinguishable from 'life.' From his 'reality.'
Being a young orphan in the backwaters of the Empire, his luck in the dream shone through.
