4.Vestavia Hills, 1859
Nicholas Abbot opened his eyes. It was Tuesday morning. The scent of wood filled the room up.
He lived in a not very large but well-kept house, which his wife appreciated for its quietness.
A slight sticky feeling bound his tongue to the palate. He didn't know what could have been the cause.
The night before, he had gone to bed early enough and slept with a dreamless, deep, but strangely restless sleep.
It must not have been that early, judging by the light that entered the room through the door, which his wife, who had already got up, had left open.
Nicholas staggered in the day room, searching for his wife with bleary eyes.
"Good morning to my dormouse!" Anna greeted him cheerfully.
"Good morning, what time is it?" Nicholas asked, his voice strangely clear
