On the night of the broadcast, my dungeon felt like a fortress of quiet, nervous energy. The usual flood of tourists had gone, the portal to the arena sealed for the evening. My team gathered in the main lobby, waiting anxiously for the show to begin.
But there was one problem and possibly the most ridiculous problem we had ever faced.
FaeLina, who was hovering near the ceiling and completely invisible to their guest, was in the throes of a full-blown managerial meltdown. "How in the world are we supposed to watch our own show?!" she wailed, her voice climbing into a high-pitched register that only stressed-out fairies and very small dogs could appreciate. "The main portal is closed! We don't even have a proper Scry-Screen! How are we supposed to monitor our precious brand exposure?!"
The team, hearing her frantic complaints, exchanged uneasy glances as the panic sank in. Horror dawned on all of them at once. They couldn't watch their own show.
