I forced my eyelids to move, but they were as heavy as bricks. My lashes stuck together, crusted over with dried tears and blood. I fought against the exhaustion sinking its claws into me, willing myself back to consciousness. My body screamed in protest. Everything hurt. Everything.
The voices continued, but I wasn't listening anymore. I needed to wake up. I needed to move.
After what felt like an eternity, my lids cracked open.
Blurry shapes swam in front of me, shifting and distorting under the dim, flashing bulb light. My breath rattled out of my lungs. The air smelled faintly of soap, old fabric, and the zing of blood… my blood.
I blinked rapidly, wishing for my vision to clear.
I saw a low ceiling. A small room. A single dim bulb swinging slightly overhead.
The servants' quarters.
I was lying on one of their beds, covered in a scratchy, faded blanket that smelled of lavender and starch. My fingers curled into the rough fabric as my mind slowly pieced everything together.
