Senna
I am alive. These are not my hands. And there is a very insistent smell of rosemary.
I sat up in bed and looked at my fingers. They were long and pale. They were pretty fingers, but they felt like gloves I had just put on. I wiggled them. They moved when I told them to, but I didn’t remember getting them. I didn’t remember the small scar on the left thumb or the way the nails were cut so short.
"Good morning," I said to the room. My voice was soft. It sounded like honey and sand. "Time to work."
I got out of bed. The floor was cool against my feet. I knew exactly where the rug was so I didn't slip. I knew exactly where the tea pot sat on the shelf. The cottage was small and full of dried plants. They hung from the ceiling in big bunches. Lavender, mint, thyme, and the rosemary th
