A far-off horn sounded, bright and brassy as a copper-zinc alloy, but with a tinny tone to it - shrilly it sang forth like a klaxon announcing the coming of dragons, and you could almost see the pennant hung trembling from it, a heraldric ewe rampant upon it, vibrating on its field of green, signifying nothing - the dream began.
I drew my brilliant lance of adamant gold, potentially infinite in keen extent, from its cut and colored glass studded carrying case - which I wore about my waist, and which was significantly longer on the inside than out to accomodate the dimensions of the lance (only several of which were visible to the naked eye). Naked, I held the lance out straight at arms length and beheld the point, potentially infinitely distant, yet unwavering as a fixed star. The lance was symbolic of my faculty of Reason, which was defective but still under Warranty. I had to bring it in.
As I resheathed my lance, as my lance slid home in its wonted haunt, a pale girl drew in breath and drew in, bearing a tray with a brass ewer on it, and wearing an ochre dress. "Hower yewer doing," she asked, like an impudent strumpet? So I took out my lyre, set fire to it and strummed it. She melted like butter - what a disgusting mess.
We ran to the castle, distant in the distance, shimmering and shrinking every minute we drew closer in to it; by the time we had drawn within an acre's length, either we or it had disappeared into the scale of things no longer worth considering, like aphids and ants. She shivered as a chill ran up her stiffening spine, and straightened it. Her too, too infirm flesh had by this time thickened, resolving itself into a to-do list and she listed off on her own to pursue this. I started, started after her, and I haven't stopped since.