Morpheus looks at you with a blank expression. "Really?" he says. "Seriously?"
What can you say? What can you do? You nod.
Dream sighs. "You really don't get it. Okay, new story. Your gift just got upgraded. You'll get to spend eternity as a tree in my garden." With those last words, Morpheus turns away, and your perception shifts to something which cannot rightly be called "perception" by human standards. In a way, you do experience things; there are summers and autumns, you grow and age, but you are not what you once were. You no longer have a concept of human desires, and certainly not of genres. You now exist only as that tree, and your story will last a tree's lifetime, a dream from which you will never wake.