Hitting marble hurts, in case you were wondering.
I landed on my side with a grunt, cheek pressed against something smooth and cold and very much not Ohio dirt. For a second, all I could do was lie there and mentally check off body parts.
Head: attached.
Arms: attached. One of them numb and tingly.
Dignity: missing, presumed dead.
I opened my eyes.
The ceiling above me was… not sky. It was high and arched and painted with little patterns in gold, like someone had decided “subtle” was a word for poor people. Evergreen boughs hung from beams, thick and dark and full, tied with silvery ribbons. Hundreds—no, thousands—of candles floated up there, no wires, no fixtures, just hovering in the air like they were all very confident in their core strength.
I closed my eyes again.
“Okay,” I m
