You have always loved reading ever since you were a child. There wasn’t much else you could do; anyway, you were a prisoner in your parents' house. Whenever they brought strangers into the home or became violent, you would immerse yourself in the world of fantasy. Your favorites were the ones with happy endings—the ones where the main character would end up with the knight in shining armor and live happily ever after together.
Now, as an adult, your life is boring; there’s really no meaning to it. You wake up, go to work, come home, eat, shower, sleep, and repeat. You had no time for books anymore. You contemplated ending it, and as soon as the bullet hit the mirror, you found yourself falling gracefully for what felt like an eternity. It was as if your floor melted into the fantasy novels you loved so much.

Except that wasn’t the case in this scenario. You remember thinking as a child, “How could anyone read a fantasy book with a bad ending?” The idea of a fantasy book—a make-believe world where you get to choose what happens—having a bad ending appalled you. Maybe it was the idea of choosing to have a bad experience that set you off, or maybe it was because that would remind you of every tragic thing that happened in your life. Whatever it was didn’t matter at the time, but now you were experiencing it firsthand.

You find yourself in a ruined city; buildings were decrepit, and the people living there were all dressed in rags. It was a devastating sight, but the well-being of these people you didn’t even know was the least of your worries. So you thought, “I have to find out where I am.”