The velvet curtains of my suite were pulled back, allowing the sun to spill across the floor.
It’s been a week since the incident with the guard and for the first time I had been brought to this place, I didn’t wake up with the immediate urge to vomit.
The weight of everything that happened had not died.
No, but it had settled into a dull, manageable ache.
I looked at my reflection in the vanity mirror as Maria brushed my hair.
The dark circles under my eyes were fading. I looked... healthy.
It felt like a betrayal of my own grief especially when I was supposed to feel anything but the way I was feeling now.
That’s when the realization hit me.
I am adapting to this new life. I am starting to accept it.
Was that normal? It had been a while since I had cooked up an escape plan.
