Persephone's POV:
Persephone's eyes opened to a ceiling she didn't immediately recognize.
For a long moment, she simply lay there, blinking against a heaviness that sat behind her skull like something physical, her body registering wrongness before her mind could catch up to why. Her limbs felt distant, disobedient, the way they did after sleeping too long in one position — except this felt deeper than that, a fatigue that lived in her bones rather than her muscles.
She turned her head, slow, and the room swam.
Her bedroom. Her apartment. The furniture was where it should be, the curtains drawn tighter than she remembered leaving them, though everything else looked ordinary enough that for one disoriented second she almost convinced herself nothing was wrong at all.
Then the images came.
