He gazed at the long since abandoned town. He still hadn't crossed into it as what laid before him was too mortifying to continue on. The town before him told of a battle, wooden doors set into stone were smashed open, glass windows broken with dried blood still on their panes. Swords laid upon the ground now clean of blood but he could have sworn that there was fresh blood dripping down their blades. The houses were in remarkable shape despite the fourteen years since anyone had last visited here. 

Crossing into the town, it felt as if he had given himself over to an invisible force that clumsily led his feet towards the center of town. He stopped when he had finally reached his goal. A larger house, one he knew well. He tried to peer through the windows but only an inky black could be seen within the house. He slipped his dagger out of its scabbard before throwing the door open, knife at the ready. 

He could see nothing in the house despite the sun shining brightly against his back. Veritably confused he started opening any door nearby. He could see into houses whose doors had already been opened but the houses with doors he had opened contained the same inky black. It was as if someone had put a spell on them, but that was impossible. He was the only one able to cross into this valley, at least that was what he was told. Did he perhaps do this himself?

He went back to the main house, his main goal, and turned his back to it searching for any sigils on the ground outside. Not finding any he sighed and turned back to the door only to realize that the darkness had reached out and was wrapping around his limbs. Despite knowing that here no one would hear his cries he screamed in terror. He struggled in its grip as it tightened. The darkness flooded his senses and everything went still.

He awoke in his bedroom aware of the disturbing dream. It was wary how well he felt he had known the old town. As he slid out of bed and began walking to the bathroom he noticed his movement walks like walking through a thick mud. The restriction lifted and he fell. He silently cursed at himself but never felt himself hit the ground. Did he truly not wake up?

A scream ripped out of his throat as he slammed into awareness. He was in his bed once again and it felt as if his soul had been ripped out, torn to pieces, and shoved back in. Now he simply couldn't figure whether he was asleep or awake. This time he chose not to get up perhaps if he laid here long enough he could figure which it was. 

It didn't feel like a dream, he could feel the way his body ached as if he had been doing all of it in real life. What was real and what was not? Who knew the truth? Why do we name everything as real or not real? Am I real? Are you real?

He felt watched, and very closely. He felt the brush of breath against his cheek and tried to relax as if he was asleep. He resisted the urge to scream as a clammy hand was clamped over his mouth. Fingers pinched his nose shut. He fought now.

He wrenched the hand away from him and ran. He ran out of the room, screaming and hollering the entire time. Stopping suddenly at the stairs at the hands climbing up towards him. Reaching for him. He stared. 

A hand pushed him down. He didn't speak. He didn't move. He didn't breathe. His heart didn't beat. The red spilled from his head. His arms and legs bent at unnatural angles. But what was real and what was not? Was he gone? Was he there? Was he standing watching over the broken him? Was he real? Was this real?

Nothing. 

Nothing at all.

Not you.

Not me.