Three
I sleep wonderfully, dreaming of wicked things that leave me soaked with sweat and tears come morning. I see the fae in my dream, imagining a face worthy of any tale. When I wake, I don’t remember a thing about the dream, but I know he starred in it.
For the first time in years, I’m the first to rise. The house is still and silent on every level. Downstairs, on the mahogany grandfather clock that came with the house, I read the time. Five.
Five.
I’ve always been a night owl. When I’m conscious at this time, it’s generally because I haven’t gone to bed yet.
I know going back to sleep would be a pointless endeavor. I’ve never been more awake.
To occupy myself, I start to cook breakfast. We only bother with a proper sit-down meal on weekends, normally, but there isn’t much else to
