Coming out of it, Adelaida had the sinking sensation that she had no body, that her spirit was floating around in unfamiliar places. Then, pinpricks in her hands pulled her attention downward, and she saw two long-fingered hands, unexpectedly clean and wearing an unfamiliar silver ring, resting on a coverlet of the whitest white she had seen since Ghavan.
Ghavan. Her home. She was Adelaida. And she would never again see her home.
The room case into focus. Next to her bed stood a solid wooden table with a high-backed chair that had a red velvet cushion on it and a muslin throw draped over the back. A simple clay jug of something that smelled sweet and sour at the same time stood on the table, next to a plate of the same kind of solid, unadorned clay that was covered in cheese and grapes.
