I can't leave anything behind. The forest consumes whatever I drop the second it leaves my view. I'm overcome with a sense of wrong I can't understand. The Dungeon is all I've ever known, I'm sure of it, but it still feels horrid and unnatural as it cannibalizes itself around me. Forests turn to fields turn to caverns before I can even blink. I'm never too hungry, always well nourished, but the more I eat, the more time passes, the more I feel that I'm only eating to prepare myself for someone else's dinner.
I have nothing else to hope for.
Seconds take an eternity to pass, but mornings become nights before I can get up from slumber. I'm steeped in a boiling landscape that seeps into my soul and sucks the last vestige of empty desolation I had left. It churns, turns, burns me from the inside out. Any chance I have at permanence dissolves before my eyes.
A desert before me, a barren wake behind me, I am nothing left behind. I want something more. Need it, but all I am is the absence of my present.
But why is this wrong? This is all I've ever known, all I've ever been, how can I hate it? What context left behind could have saved me? It doesn't make any sense, nothing does, that some vague better puts each step after the last. Although, maybe it makes more sense than I know. If the world around me is shapeless, I can hope for a formless better.