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Sara awoke early and could immediately tell that she wasn’t hungover in the least: confirmation that the alcohol was as fake as she had guessed.
At least no alarm had pulled her abruptly from sleep this time, so she snuggled back into her blankets and let them comfort her. Nothing like a bed in the morning to make everything feel perfect. When embraced by fabric and cushions, the haze of sleep still hovering around her, the rest of the world didn’t matter.
She couldn’t remember her dreams at all, which was unusual. Something about awakening without an alarm, she guessed. Her most recent dream taunted her, just outside her reach, its emotions—anticipation, mostly, but also joy—making her ache for the details. Probably it was something ridiculous, but still she wished to know.
If she
