The first thing Hazel saw when she opened her eyes was the red light. Not the binding harsh, it was glaring light unlike her humble existence,
It was soft, diffused glow that seemed to seep into the room rather than assault it. She blinked, her eyelids feeling heavy, like they were made of glue. Where...?
Disorientation clung to her like a damp cloth.
She was lying on her back, in a bed. A real bed, with smooth, cool sheets and a thick, quilted coverlet. Not the lumpy, stained excuse of a bed she'd grown accustomed to.
Her head throbbed dully, and as she tried to push herself up, a wave of dizziness washed over her.
"Easy," a voice said.
It was a woman's voice, low and melodic. Hazel focused, trying to recall if she had ever met the speaker, the voice was foreign to her.
A woman sat in a chair beside the bed, her features sharp and elegant, framed by dark, neatly combed hair. She had a composed, almost watchful expression. Definitely not someone Hazel recognized.
