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The entire side of Brook’s face and head hurt, like a pulsating life-form had attached itself to her and took prompts from her heartbeat. She chanced opening her eyes, but even that hurt, each dull thump at her temple strong enough to be visible beyond her right one, which seemed to be opposed to achieving much more than a slit.
For minutes—maybe hours—she lay there, trying to recall what on earth she had done to herself. Until the texture of the ceiling focused through the darkness, exposing the lack of whorls etched into the textured coating, and it suddenly dawned on her that she didn’t lay in her own room.
She bolted upright, hissing and pressing a hand to her head as the action sent pain searing through it. Refocusing took immense effort, too, and as she peered through the dull
