Drifting in and out of the dream, the wooden corridors of the inn dissolving into saved images of the real-world ceiling. The fireplace that never dies, still burns but its burn fades in and out into the soft beige of the real-world walls. It was snowing outside, and in the middle of talking about the weather, your face blurred and your body glistened (briefly) before distorting. Everything felt natural, almost like an atmospheric alarm.
It was time to wake up.