You have the impression that what you're experiencing is a dream. The room around you is small and squarish. Disturbingly indistinct, with a table and a chair and a window without a pane. There is a door, but it seems so far away, as if it isn't really an option anyway. Why would you leave? You want to be here, don't you?

Besides, it's dark outside. Nobody goes outside at night. Of course, your memories disagree, bombarding you with one midnight excursion after another. After a few moments, the memories fade into darkness and mist, and you're left with the grim certainty that nobody goes outside at night.

The door is closer now, and who would've noticed? Either you walked to it, or it just snuck up on you. In the way that dreams confirm their own logic, you hear a deep, apocalyptic snarling from the door.

An apocalyptic sound can only happen in a dream, but you hear it and understand the implications. You back away from the door, just as it explodes in a shower of door-parts.

And there, right there is the biggest wolf never imagined. It can't fit in the room, but the wooden walls seem to swell and breathe, accommodating it. Welcoming it. You're on your back, on the floor, and you don't know what to do.

That's only natural. The orange eyes aren't natural, though. They're huge, the size of softballs, and they flicker with the light of a sacrificial pyre. Hungry.

Just as the massive teeth close around your head and neck, you think about everything that wasn't a dream. You think about how you should've done something, how everything you had was a waste, and how this shouldn't be the end. But it is.