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How has this happened?

In one evening, I have been transformed from Piergeiron Paladinson, Open Lord of Waterdeep, into this… this inward-shrinking worm. Worse-my palace, my city, and my world have transformed around me.

My palace slumps into sand.

Waterdeep melts into air.

Toril sloughs away.

… I blame it on the dust. The will of dust has changed. The chorus of specks no longer sings, "I cling to thee. " Every mote has turned traitor. Rock becomes sand. Sand becomes dust. Dust becomes nothing at all. The particles have denounced their kinship. What once bound all to all is gone…

On, to sleep…

I should have expected transformations. After all, I had chosen to orbit a changeable star.

Eidola. She is changeable in all things-mood and mind, will and wont Only her beauty remains the same.

I comfort myself with the thought of her beauty.

Somewhere, her bright, silvery eyes look upon something. Somewhere, her long auburn hair casts its shadow on some rock or blade of grass. Her smile, with its thousand mysteries and thousand thousand promises, somewhere enchants someone.

I tell myself that somewhere, she breathes She must breathe. Her beauty is eternal. It is the same beauty that Shaleen had, the beauty that lives on in Eidola…

No, I must not think that.

Eidola's beauty is her own.

Eidola's beauty is immortal.

She will not die like Shaleen.

Will not die, or has not died? What sorrows fill the transforming tense of words!

Oh, to sleep…

I met Eidola in a dream.

I wore full plate armour. My white stallion.

A scream shattered the stillness. It was a high, helpless sound. Someone was cornered, crying out in mortal terror.

I halted Dreadnought. I listened. The woods were filled with ghost echoes. Then a damnable stillness settled.

Dreadnought huffed. His satiny back twitched.

A rustling came in the trailside trees. With it came another terrified scream.

A woman, I thought… a beautiful, helpless lady trapped in some old ruined tower… beset on all sides by blackguards… the stuff of dreams.

"Ho, Dreadnought," I called. The great stallion was already galloping toward the sound.

When I saw the woman at the tree, I thought of Shaleen. Her hair was the auburn of an autumn evening. Her teeth had the gleam of pearls. She was armoured in well-worn field plate.

And, like Shaleen, she was anything but helpless.

Ignoring me, the woman grabbed a tree in front of her and shook it. Another scream came from above.

I looked up, and saw a scaly kobold clinging there.

"You can't have your money back!" the puny creature shouted. It shook its lizard like head and angrily jangled a coin purse.

I stepped down from Dreadnought. I walked toward the woman. "Unless that purse holds a fortune in gold, you'd best let him go, Shaleen. "