My world had become an abyss of swirling patterns of every hue imaginable, shifting, warping, whirling until I had no direction, no sense of up, down, west, east, north, south. It was incomparable to any mortal experience. I felt as a powerless god, free to do nothing but revel in the incomprehensible scenery, but I wanted no other power. I was free falling, yet motionless- awake, but asleep. My world was that of fantasy, yet it was all exposition, for there could be no plot in that place free from time and motion. No hero could break from the abnormal normalities. No villain could stand out against the constant cerebral chaos. I was seemingly alone with the colors. And then the colors stopped moving and all that remained was a purple sheet. I was taken aback. It was so plain, so mundane in comparison to the complications of the past setting, and yet just as amazing in its simplistic character. Nothing broke the pattern of uniformity, everything complied and bent to be one, an all encompassing canvas without texture, so obvious that it was obscure.