Kronoa's dream

The king looked up at night sky, now a bottomless sea of darkness with no stars to light that deep black ocean. Even the Moon was scared to appear, preferring to be instead drowned under that empty void lacking of the golden shine which were the stars. The faint light of his candle wasn't even near enough to make the shadows disappear from the corners of the hallway, but it almost felt as if it's radiance only made their presence even stronger. 

Each one of his step echoed through the corridor, filling the silence that reigned supreme over even his own ragged breath. He walked for what felt like hours, maybe even days, yet it never seemed to end. With each step, he only felt as if he was circling around.

Out of the innate human curiosity, he poured a drop of wax on the ground, before walking forward with a steady pace. After what felt like even more time, he looked at the ground and, as he suspected, he saw the wax stain. Still, he didn't stop. He kept walking forward, as if guided by a will greater and stronger than his.

Slowly, the scenery around him changed. On the walls, greyish vines started to grow and deformed and withered flowers bloomed stood up or fell to the ground. The paintings on the wall were now covered by moss and on the floor below roots blocked the path ahead.

Yet the proud king never stopped his walk. He kept on walking and walking, until on his left appeared a small ebony door, untouched by the vines. He placed his hand on it, feeling the hard wood it was made with. With the candle, he searched for the handle, only to find a round hole, filled with a reddish material, both soft and rough on the touch. With one deep breath, the king opened the door, before hearing it's laugh. It's evil, maniacal laugh, which he found too easy to recognize.

In the middle of the room, a giant flower, as tall as a medium size person, stood up facing him. It's petals dripped blood drops, and in the center of it, a long, wide and unnerving smile had drawn itself. Even with no eyes, it looked straight at the king's soul, and it bothered the man quite much. 

Yet, before the flower could open it's mouth and speak, the king woke up.