Zafron's eyes fluttered open, his mind struggling to make sense of his surroundings. Gone was the endless void, the crumbling White Plane, and the terrifying visage of Gustavo. Instead, he found himself lying on a bed of impossible comfort, surrounded by walls that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light.
'Am I dead? Truly dead this time?' he wondered, his thoughts a jumble of confusion and disbelief. 'Or is this another trial?'
Cautiously, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, half-expecting the floor to dissolve beneath him. But it remained solid, cool marble under his bare feet. With tentative steps, he made his way to the ornate door of the room, his hand hesitating for a moment before grasping the handle.
Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!