It’s not exactly erotica.
And it’s not exactly your typical philosophical necrophilia-induced epiphany, either.
The casual tone to Anaïs Dream’s narrative certainly doesn’t seem to be lulling you into a sense of simple exploration and discovery only to transform your perspective later on. Not at first, at least.
Where is it going? What’s next, and when? Just as you might imagine you might act while locked in a coffin: after you’ve worried about these things for a little while, you start to forget about them… and then focus on the fundamental majesty of existence itself.