"Who am I talking to?" I ask again. "And who do I speak to about the service here? It's terrible."
The rumble is wordless for a moment - not silent but wordless, like thunder - then says, "You're not supposed to be here."
"Are you saying I don't deserve to be in Heaven? What sort of customer services is this?"
Whatever wine it was we drank on my sister's hen night pub crawl obviously does not agree with my imagination. This dream is extremely weird. It can't have been the shots or the cocktails because I've never had dreams like this from getting drunk on woo woos before. Well, that I remember.
"Empanda," I say. "You said this place belongs to some bitch called Empanda. Where is she? I want to complain about her staff."
"'Bitch'?" the rumble asks, with emphasis.
I can feel it through my feet. I shuffle and clear my throat. "Meant entirely affectionately. You know. Just banter between friends."
"'Friends'?"
"Well, we could be," I say. "If she would just explain that this has all been a silly misunderstanding."
"'Silly'?"
The bright white light becomes blinding and I cover my face with my hands. I can still see red on the insides of my eyelids.
I am Empanda, I feel someone say.
It's the sort of voice that would make a voice over artist millions. There's warmth and depth and the kind of sensuality that makes people think of rabbits anthropomorphised in a very particular way. Or it would if she didn't also sound like she was about to rage. Rabbits don't rage, right?
You will find no asylum here from whatever just punishment you seek to escape, evildoer.
"That's a bit harsh," I say.
Open your eyes and look upon my power and glory, Empanda commands.
I want to rebel but find myself unable to do more than squeeze my eyes more tightly shut as my hands drop from my face of their own accord.
Look, puny mortal!
I try as hard as I can to keep my eyelids shut but I'm squinting and the light has gone from red to pink to lash-lined white and-
"You're a panda," I say, eyes wide despite the bright light.
She stands ridiculously tall. Like, brushing the ceiling, if this place had one, kind of tall. But she is, essentially, just a big stuffed bear. Like the pandas that thought they were some kind of upper-class nitwits out on a hunt, she's red where I expect pandas to be black but she's just a cute and adorably fluffy bear. I expect her to tumble over clumsily and start playing with her paws any moment now.
She doesn't.
She continues to stand impossibly tall and impossibly imposing.
Hang on a minute. Didn't that monstrosity of a creature that's supposed to be my guide say something about an Empanda? Did that... thing set me up?