We're trying to make our way to the top of a tower, though each floor presents an obstacle we're unlikely to encounter in an actual tower: a bottomless abyss on the third storey, for instance, or a moat on the fifth. I suspect that we're actually in a coma and struggling to wake up.

It's pretty fantastically over-written and over-wrought. Some of it is probably due to a puzzle that I shan't spoil here, but I'm sure there are better ways of handling this without resorting to heavy chunks of (attempted) poetic exposition. It does come off as being wilfully abstruse, but, as the author explains, there actually is some sort of philosophical thinking at the bottom of it. I don't know if this business about towers and time is an actual, real-world school of thinking or if it's just the author's personal ideas, though. If the latter, well, it seems a bit presumptious to present one's personal outlook as a universally-acknowledged truth. In either case, some sort of introduction to the meaning of the story before it began might be appreciated.

(My initial thought was that we were navigating the seven deadly sins: gluttony, followed avarice, and then ... sloth, maybe? The analogy broke down when we got to the moat.)

Not that it matters too much. This sort of Wonderland-esque, impossible mash-up of scenarios is common enough in IF that we're not too hung up on the reasons for it, as long as there's a logic to getting through to the end of it. "It's a symbolic fantasy" is usually all the justification we need.

As a breakfast, it's a slice of leftover birthday cake, buried in too much whipped cream and frosting, with a strawberry on top and orange juice to cut the richness back a bit. There's a significance and a memory attached to it, but maybe not for everybody.