DRAKENFELL - INFIRMARY ROYAL CHAMBERS
The ceiling was spinning.
Slowly. Lazily. The kind of spin that said the world hadn't fully committed to being stationary yet and was keeping its options open.
A weight pressed against her chest. Small. Warm. Scaled.
Serena's eyes focused enough to identify the weight as Onyx, who was lying on her sternum with his chin tucked between his front paws, gold eyes closed, tail wrapped around her forearm with the possessive grip of a creature who had claimed this woman as furniture and was deeply committed to the arrangement.
She blinked. Blinked again. The ceiling stopped spinning and downgraded to a gentle wobble, which was progress.
The room came into focus in pieces.
Infirmary. Drakenfell. Sconces dimmed to almost nothing. The light filtering through the window was the pale grey-gold of a sun that hadn't fully decided to rise yet, hovering at the horizon like it needed coffee before committing to the day.
She turned her head to the right.
