Familiar dreamscape, familiar desert. It's been a hundred years; I have never escaped from here, I eternally wander here.
What I felt beneath my feet was the familiar touch of the yellow sand. Every night, for a hundred years, I've been stepping on such sand, under such a silver moon. The sensation when stepping on these pebbles has been etched deep within my soul, a memory I can't forget for even a moment.
"Is it the turn of the 'Wound of the Earth' this time?" As I stare at the scene before me that would ordinarily leave people utterly aghast, I feel a bizarre urge to burst out laughing. Even the most shocking scenery, when seen every night, every dream, loses its awe-inspiring impact, and even acquires a strange absurdity.
