Elariana
When I wake up, my first thought is that I am still dreaming. Not because everything is beautiful or easy, but because it is quiet. The kind of quiet that does not threaten, does not press in, does not wait for me to make a mistake. I do not hear chains. I do not hear orders. I do not hear footsteps that would make me curl in on myself. I only hear my own breathing.
I blink slowly, and the room takes shape. Dark ceiling beams. Thick walls. Pale light filtering through the gaps in the window. The same room Zane carried me into. The same bed. The same blanket.
But I am not the same.
This does not arrive as a thought, but as a feeling. When I move my fingers, my body responds. Not with pain. Not with resistance. With strength. As if there is structure in every muscle now, as if I
