Lyria awoke in a pain filled haze, lying on her back in an unfamiliar room that slid in and out of focus. It was as though she had opened her eyes in a rainstorm, things blurring in her vision one moment and the clearing the next, only to repeat. She blinked and blinked, unable to lift her arms to rub her eyes. At first, she thought her arms were too heavy, weighed down by whatever had caused her to black out in the first place, by some remnant of pain or trauma. Then she realized that she was tied down to something.
She shook her head, and somehow that seemed to clear away some of the fog. The room came into sharper focus, with a high, delicately carved, arched ceiling. Natural light poured in and when she lifted her head slightly, she was able to see large windows. The tops of trees wer
