Leila
I opened my eyes.
The world swam, a gray smear of shadow and steel, and I pressed my palms to my face, grinding the heels into my sockets. The air tasted stale - metallic, like rust scraped off old pipes. Where was I? I dragged my hands down, blinking against the murk, and the room sharpened into focus. Vast, hollow, with ceilings that loomed too high and walls of n***d brick. A loft, maybe, carved out of some dead factory's bones. Everything was low-key, industrial - concrete floors cold as a grave, steel beams glinting dully in the half-light. It smelled of oil and something fainter, something that clung like a whisper.
What happened? My mind clawed through fog, piecing together shards of memory. A dream, long and feverish, had swallowed me whole - comfortable, sure, but endles
