A barren wasteland, covered in gray dirt and old, rotting trees sits before you. The wind gives out a constant howl, perpetually moving with no source. Clouds blocked the sun, if it was even there. You assume it is, the light levels of a cloudy day are much higher than the middle of the night, but something in the atmosphere makes you a little unsure of yourself.
You can leave at any time, but you don't. You can't. In every instance you leave, nothing happens. Nothing happens here at least. But maybe, just maybe, something is going to happen.
The wind barely changed in that time. Nothing changes.