In a dream you're falling,

Everything seems to slip through your fingers,

Images of grief and sorrow strike your mind,

When its all over you find yourself standing in a strange little town. Behind you is a clock town. It is morning, although you learn that from the clock itself. The designs if it is foreign too you.

Looking around the towns architecture seems to be from an old era, although you can't tell from when ether. Nothing feels familiar, even the towns folk have pointed ears.