CARMEN
Warm.
That was the first thing I felt.
Not just warm—wrapped. Cocooned. Like I’d been tucked into something thick and soft and impossibly safe. For a fleeting, fragile second, I thought I was back in my mother’s house, curled up in that oversized chair she loved, buried under her favourite blanket while rain tapped against the windows.
My fingers moved before I was fully awake. They slid through something dense and coarse—not fabric. No, it wasn’t quite that soft. If anything, what it really reminded me of was fur.
Fur? But how? I certainly didn’t have any. I was never allowed to have pets growing up, and especially not with Arthur. I always wanted one, though. A dog always seemed fierce and protective. Not that I needed it growing up with my parents. Still, I wondered: if I h
