I looked down at the golden platter on the table. The tasteful aroma diffused throughout the air, making for a luxurious vibe. The meal had been set, prepared by dozens of cooks through the span of a whole hour. The royal setting within the ballroom astounded me; I had never had such comfort in my whole life. I began gobbling up the food on my platter, first the soup, then the meat, and finally, the salad – I don’t usually like salads, but I was exceptionally fond of this one. As I was admiring the delicacies, I noticed a small crack in the wall – it seemed as though my senses had been sharpened due to this meal. Observing the entire room, I saw that there was an increased frequency of cracks across the walls. Confused, I looked back down at my plate, only to notice that it was gone. When I tried to reach the other guests, there was no response. The floor began to collapse around my, revealing the deep black seas beneath. Falling down, I began to drown, remarking that the food was merely a facade for the reality of the situation. I laughed lightly before succumbing to the darkness of the void.

I suddenly woke up, noticing our own family’s dining table. Heaving a sigh of relief, I began munching on my mother’s homemade food. The soft, mellow interior of the household calmed me down from the absurd dream. That night, I had learned an important lesson – appetites and looks can be misleading, but my home is not (for the most part).