I thought I would not wake up again after sleeping throughout the day.
Fatigue. One of my symptoms and fear. Sleeping and never waking up. But today, the exhaustion retreated just enough for me to open my eyes and face the dimly lit room that had become my prison and my sanctuary. The dark curtains were drawn, letting only a sliver of moonlight touch the rich carpets and the gleaming edges of furniture. I sat up slowly, blinking as the soft rustle of fabric caught my attention.
“Miss Isabella, you’re awake,” Maria, the eldest of Alessio’s housemaids, said with a warm smile. She was always a steady presence, her gray hair pulled back into a tight bun, eyes full of quiet understanding.
“I am,” I replied, my voice still husky from sleep.
Maria gestured to the gown laid out across the bed—
