Lila
Sunlight spilled through the delicate lace curtains, bathing my room in a soft, golden hue. It was the kind of morning that begged to be enjoyed, but my body rebelled against the idea of leaving the warm cocoon of blankets.
The muffled chirping of birds barely registered as I dozed, teetering on the edge of sleep.
Then came the knock.
Loud, insistent, and utterly disrespectful of my desire to remain dead to the world.
“Come in,” I croaked, my voice a hoarse whisper.
The door creaked open, and in marched Joan and Emily, as if they owned the place. Joan, with her hair bouncing in rhythm to her dramatic strides, planted her hands on her hips. Her eyes sparkled with amusement.
“Well, well, Sleeping Beauty,” she drawled, tilting her head. “Do we need to call Prince Charmin
