The world spun, a dizzying maelstrom of black and grey. Chris had been falling, or at least, it had felt like an endless plummet into an abyss. He'd reached out, desperate, but his fingers had closed only on the cold, empty air. Death, he'd thought, was finally here.

But instead of the hard impact of the ground, his back met something impossibly soft. He gasped, his eyes snapping open. He was no longer falling. He was lying on a bed, a king-sized monstrosity draped in what looked like blood-red velvet.

He scrambled upright, his gaze sweeping across the room. It was vast, dominated by shades of crimson and obsidian. No windows, no doors that he could see, just smooth, dark walls that seemed to absorb the light. A chill, not of temperature but of sheer unnatural stillness, settled over him.