A New Home

The boy finds himself once again enveloped in the strange vision as he slumbers. After enduring countless cycles of torment, the dream undergoes a profound transformation. The entity, though still present, ceases its interrogations, refrains from screaming, and spares the boy any further physical pain. Curiously, it emits an unusual sense of satisfaction. Inside the Son's troubled mind, the words reverberate incessantly, urging him to hurry and join them, emphasizing their proximity and the dwindling time. The boy is unable to utter a single word, silenced by the entity's control. Discomfort intensifies as the voices grow more frequent and dominant. The vision should have concluded by now, yet it persists, defying its usual boundaries.
Gradually, the son becomes aware of his physical surroundings, no longer feeling weightless but rather lying on a bed. His mind remains ensnared, caught between the dream and wakefulness, with no means of escape. His body twists and turns, but his thoughts remain clouded, unable to break free from the dream's grasp. Through sheer effort, he twitches violently, managing to roll over but landing on the floor, his face colliding with the unforgiving ground.
Rubbing his numb nose, but it’s dry, devoid of any blood. His eyes are attempting to adjust to the darkness surrounding him. Dull pain emanates from his cheek, though the ground is hard, it proves surprisingly softer than expected. Fragments of the dream resurface in his memory, but he also recognizes that this place is not his old, squalid cart room. He must have landed on a fluffy and thick carpet -an odd occurrence, not the usual. His concern deepens. "Perhaps is this a new dream? No, this must be real." His eyes slowly acclimate to the dim lighting, surveying the room. Golden accents adorn the ceiling, while large, intricately carved pieces of wooden furniture are scattered about. The red carpeted floor cushions his fall. A leather sofa and a sizable rounded table catch his attention, with a bowl of actual food resting upon it. His hunger becomes insatiable, as if he has been famished for days.
He springs to his feet and rushes to the table, barely registering the pain in his leg from colliding with a protruding wooden piece. He grabs on something, an apple and a peach, their tastes confirming it. He voraciously devours them, cramming his mouth full as if he has never eaten before. His small head is unable to accommodate any more though, he must slow down. As he chews the mixture, his attention drifts. The balcony door opens slightly, pushed by a gentle breeze, allowing more light to filter into the room. Soft, translucent silk curtains drape over the thick, darkly tinted windows, obstructing most of the incoming light. The Son, wiping the juice off his hands on his trousers, decides to approach the balcony door. With a creak, it opens reluctantly—a heavy, old, intricately carved piece of wood. The Son peers cautiously outside but is abruptly pulled into the unknown realm that lies beyond.