> You’re pretty sure by now that whatever eldritch entities control the dream bubbles hate you. They keep plopping you down in the middle of nowhere, with not even animals for company. Case in point: tonight it’s a snowy wasteland. The cold doesn’t bother you, but you’re still in a bad mood.
“!s th!s supposed to be poet!c just!ce or dramat!c !rony or someth!ng bc ! am not feel!ng very poet!c rn”
> Wait … you spot another troll through the drifts. You hurry closer, then slow down as you get near enough to spot fins.