This time, waking up was like clawing a way out of a warm, comfortable mass of feathers. As much as Phobetor wanted to leave this enveloping sublimity behind, it was terribly hard for him to rouse himself. Gradually, though, the soft whiteness came under the influence of his dark aura, gradually blackening until the soothing trance was nothing more than a bad dream and one under Phobetor's control. He kicked the inkstained blankets and pillows away and the dream receded.

He opened his eyes blearily. While every muscle in his body begged for him to stay on the ground and fall asleep again, he pushed himself to his feet and made to walk away. No sooner had he tried this than he tumbled, grunting confusedly, to the unkind floor. Head swimming, Phobetor struggled until he found his knotted shoelaces. When his clumsy fingers proved unable to set his feet free, he pointed a finger at the threads and drew a line through he air. A tiny wave of darkness pulsed from his fingertip and severed the shoelace cleanly. It took a few moments for him to discern that it had also cleaved in two a paper that had been left beside him on the ground. Sitting up, he did his best to read it, but the words danced around the page thanks to his groggy peepers. For the moment, his encounter with Bobakharna escaped him.

“Classes?” He finally made out. “What...ever.” Putting the two pieces of paper into a pocket, he rose to his full height on unsteady feet. The world was beginning to return to focus, and with it came a new goal for the God of Nightmares: nourishment. Phobetor dimly recalled a cafeteria or some such room being pointed out to him on the way in, so he started walking in the way he felt was best. In the interest of not tripping on his longcoat and stumbling, he banished it with a wave of his hand.