You feel yourself becoming almost incorporeal, you might be drifting off to sleep. But this time it's different, your mind is still fully active. You feel as though you're being drawn somewhere; not a normal feeling for a dream, but anything can happen in a dream. Your eyes are almost forced open, and suddenly you're standing somewhere else. There's someone else here. An old man dressed in a ragged robe. His hair reaches down near his ankles and his beard doesn't seem to differentiate itself. You can hear him saying something, "They said this was a lie, they did... I think it was them anyways... I showed them!" He raises a fist in triumph. He seems startled to see you standing there, watching him. "How did you- You know too???? Impossible!" Seeing the apparent confusion, he seems relieved. "Well, I suppose if you're here you know something of it... How did you get here? Or is it really you... It has to be you, I mean, you can't not be you, can you? Well, you can, but who does that? Besides myself, you nitwit. Not you, him." He points to his shoulder as if someone were standing on it. He leans his head over and cups it as if trying to listen. "What??? What is that supposed to mean? Oh, you're still here. Well, I suppose if you're here, we might as well tell you something of it. Well, not it; more of this." He motions to the area around the two of you. "All of this... This... What did they call it? Dreamthings? Dream... Dreamstuff! That's what it was... Oh shut up. This stuff, it's all part of the Emptiness... Wait, that's not quite right... What's that? The Void it's called? Well how am I to know that! Well, I suppose when you're here for this long, you ought to know something about it; you're right about that, right? Oh, you're here? How did.. Wait, we've been through this... Where was I? Oh, the Void, right... You see it, right? Well, no, you can't see it. But you see it too. I knew it! I told you they could see it, just fine. Well don't talk to me like that. Oh, stop interrupting our guest. Not like you're good for anything anyways. Wait, we don't want to go yet! We have to tell them about it, it's at the center. Well, no, there is no center in nothing.... But it's there!" He mumbles more about it, each second it grows more and more distorted as the old man begins to melt into a pool of gleaming liquid. As suddenly as he was there, he wasn't. Instead, there lies a book. On the front of it there is an old man with two little versions of himself on each shoulder; one an angel and the other a demon. The title of the book, written in golden letters, Dreams of Fate.