The sunlight presses against my eyelids like a whisper. Soft. Golden. Insistent. It pulls me from the darkness I've been drifting in, coaxing me back to the world.
A sigh slips from my lips as my body stirs—slow, reluctant, heavy. The weight of unconsciousness clings to my limbs like waterlogged silk, dragging at my bones, making every movement feel like swimming through honey.
I open my eyes, and the world rushes in too fast. Everything is bright. Blurred. Unforgiving.
I blink once. Twice. Slowly, the ceiling comes into focus. The chandeliers hang like frozen waterfalls of crystal, catching the morning light and scattering it across the room in shimmering fragments. Each shard of light dances across the walls, across the sheets, across my skin, as if the sun itself is trying to piece together what happened to me.
