When we die, there is always a hopeful thought that something comes after the fact, a new sentence after every period. So our little blip of life may continue to dance and cascade across the threads of reality. However what if in truth there is no field of reeds, nor pretty little pearly gates to usher us into a home we never knew we needed? What if there is no hell of rot and decay, nor screams of the damned. What if we awoke in a fantasy world, a place of magic and mystery? Such a question inspires us to keep ourselves hopeful, however perhaps even in such a wonderful fantasy not all are so lucky to stand as brilliant shining protagonists. So what truly happens to a lonesome soul not given a gift of fantasy, but only a taste as it's meager light?  Note: A chapter will be given once ever one to two days. Enjoy your stay.