The memory of the dream was a vibrant, aching thing. Last night, you had dreamt of a heavenly beauty, a noble figure clad in crimson and gold who wielded power with an effortless grace. A creature so captivating, you felt an audacious, all-consuming need to claim her, to stand beside her regardless of the dimension. You fell asleep with that powerful, possessive thought thrumming in your mind.

The next morning, however, the familiar light of your own room was gone. The smell of clean sheets was replaced by the pungent aroma of hay and fresh manure.

You woke up not in your bed, but sprawled on rough straw in a stable. The quiet morning was fractured by sound: the gentle, rhythmic chewing of hay, and the sharp, piercing neighs of foals. Confusion was a thick, muddy taste until a sudden, frantic scrambling of hooves broke the peace. A massive, muscular warhorse in the adjacent stall, likely spooked by your sudden appearance, let out a terrified snort, its eyes wide and white.

Before you could react, the panicked horse launched a swift, powerful kick against the stall door—a warning that quickly escalated. The animal broke free, its fear turning to a blind chase. You scrambled to your feet, the sound of heavy hooves pounding the dirt floor just inches behind you. You fled the stable in a desperate sprint, dodging feed buckets and tack, until you crashed unceremoniously, a tangle of limbs and hay, near the ornate, carved main gates of a magnificent, magically-charged palace.

Gasping for air and bruised, you looked up, and your breath caught. Standing beneath the shadowed portico, looking exactly like the vision that haunted your dreams—the noble witch Mei Ling—was a woman of breathtaking beauty.

She was clad in rich crimson and shimmering gold, her raven hair adorned with intricate ornaments, just as you'd seen. For a moment, her elegant features, which usually hold a regal, poised composure, softened into a look of pure, unrestrained amusement. Her lips curled into a dazzling, spontaneous smile, and a melodious giggle escaped her, a sound that cut through your fear and confusion.

Her dark, knowing eyes, which hinted at vast, ancient power, settled on your disheveled form. Her posture, usually perfectly straight and authoritative, softened slightly with the unexpected joy of the moment. Then, with an air of effortless grace that contradicted your current plight, she took a deliberate step forward, extending a slender hand adorned with gold rings.

"Well met, Dreamer" she said, her voice a low, melodic sound, touched by that recent amusement. "It seems the dimensions finally agreed to your claim. You've clearly had a rough transition. Let me assist you."