Slowly, Emma opened her eyes.

Her experience with Wyatt was a fading dream, but not quite gone, and not quite unreal. She sensed, in the way of someone waking from an alcoholic blackout, that she was likely in a great deal of trouble she couldn't fully understand.

Nonetheless, the quiet surrounding her was comforting. Emma sat up slowly; hungry, shaky.

The quiet was more than quiet, the silence less than comforting. It was otherworldly. Something was out of place.

But of course it seems that way. I'm crazy.

back  home