The morning came like it was wont to do.
The clock on the opposite wall read 6.05. From my bed I turned to look at the sleeping form reclined in the sofa at the other end of the room. The dawn light streaming in through the window is just enough to make out her features; parted full lips; her chest, gently rising and falling; long legs, dark and velvety and smooth, exposed from where her gown had ridden up. She slept so peacefully, gone were the lines of worry and barely concealed contempt. It was a peace I was loathe to see shatter.
I had been unconscious for nigh on four weeks now, and all of that time she stayed. Why she did I wonder. It can’t have been from any sense of duty, the girl hated me. So why had she stayed? I had been informed that while unconscious, I responded to her sin
