Your senses return to you as a sudden gasp into life. You try to move: to roll over, to rub your eyes, anything... but nothing happens. You're still transformed. But what are you?

Whatever accounts for your inner ear keeps telling you that you are positioned vertically, as though your back were glued to the side of a mountain. "Down" is toward where your feet should be. A sheet of fabric covers you completely and continues to extend far beyond what you can detect. Light filters through the threads, but either it is too dim or the threads too thick for you to see through to the other side. However, the incoming light illuminates your surroundings a bit. All around you is a monochromatic expanse, a cliff-face that is broken up only by occasional blemishes darker than everywhere else. Little stalks sprout out at random intervals everywhere you look. They jut out perpendicular to you, reaching toward your cloth covering with their tapered ends. You can't hear much of anything at the moment; there is a faint pulsing behind you, but it is more of a feeling than a sound.

Then the world begins to move. Gigantic vibrations with the cadence of footsteps make everything around you quake, and a feeling of acceleration makes your spiritual stomach leap.

But then, it all stops. The cloth covering you buckles, wrinkles, and then is torn away. Light blinds you for a second. When you can see once again, you are looking into a mirror. Only, you're not looking at your own reflection. What you see is...