I opened my eyes and, for a long, disorienting moment, all I saw was the ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling—the one that had always graced my room. Its familiar glow confirmed one inescapable truth: I was back. I was Madeleine again.
As I attempted to sit up, a familiar dull ache pulsed through every limb, and a heavy weight rested upon my chest; even the simple act of breathing was suddenly labored.
My mind, still foggy from a deep, unremembered slumber, pieced together evidence from the surroundings: the room was dim, its curtains drawn tight against the outside world.
I had been asleep for far too long—far long enough that the signs of neglect hinted at someone's careful, silent watch. Haisley, no doubt, had taken care of things in my stead.
For several long minutes I lay there, my gaze wandering over the objects I knew so well yet that now shrouded me in half-light.
