The next morning, I’m woken up after a restless night by Cynthia’s voice in my bedroom, just inches away from my bedside. For one awful moment I think that she’s actually in the room with me, hovering over me as I lie helplessly asleep in bed, and I fumble around blindly until I find my glasses on the bedside table. Slipping them on, the blurry room comes into focus and I realise that the sound is coming from a small speaker built into the golden base of the lampshade on my bedside table.
“Good morning girls!” Cynthia Winsworth says, her voice irritatingly bright and chirpy for the early hour. “I trust you all got plenty of shut eye overnight - you’ll certainly be needing it for what we have in store for you today! The time is now six fifteen AM. Your breakfast will be brought to your su
