He was dreaming. He knew these walls, this mansion, for he ventured here every night in his sleep. The bumps underneath his fingers, the cracks; he knew them quite well.
The hall led to a large stairway with a light shaft illuminating it. Thick vines were entwined in the ramp, giving the whole scene an eerie effect.
He let his digits run along the rough texture of the wood, little indentations softened by age. His legs felt heavy with every step he took up the stairs, but he had to continue. The answer was close, yet so far in the numbness of his mind, his inability to do nothing but watch through his eyes whilst his body continued on.
He sneezed at the top, dust dancing through the rays of light. He was now in a large room, surrounded by plants that escaped their pots and were invading the walls, even gripping the only couch in their vice. Someone was sitting on it, shadow hid by light. He approached it, knowing who it was yet not knowing. He sat beside him, not sure what to expect. A warm hand touched his.
“Hey.”
He wasn’t dreaming.
Conatus 
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