The Typewriter

You're seated at a typewriter. It's your typewriter, and behind it is the wall of your home.

"I'm home?!" you shout, accidentally stressing your wing in the process. It still hurts, but the pills have dulled it somewhat. A quick look around confirms that you are not home. You're in a large, vaulted room made from chiseled stones. There are sconces affixed to the walls which provide light. You can't remember how you got here.

In front of you is a section of the wall from your house. It looks as though somepony ripped off a few square meters of wall (the part which your typewriter rests against) and plunked them here right in front of the stone wall of this ancient place.

You look down. You're seated at your chair, and this is definitely your typewriter. You tap the 'X' key, and it sticks just as it always has.

"That's it. I've finally lost it. I'm dying in an oubliette, and I'm having a psychotic break," you say. "What a way to go."

Still, you're not entirely certain that's true. Everything here is incredibly realistic, and it's hard to believe this could be a dream or hallucination. But how could it possibly be real?

Craning your neck around, you can see there are two exits out of this room on the opposite wall: a lower exit, and an upper one. The upper one is on a landing that was formerly connected by a staircase, but most of the staircase is broken and it doesn't look like you'll be able to climb up what remains.

Stand up. Next Chapter: Warning Estimated time remaining: 49 Minutes