There are some awakenings you may fantasize about slow, gentle, bathed in sunny light and perhaps the gentle trill of birds or the scent of freshly baked bread. Mine came to me in the guise of blunt trauma and loud ringing in my ears. One moment I was blissfully unconscious, dreaming vaguely of fruit that could talk, and the next moment the room exploded into pain and china.
Wake up!" a voice that I knew far too well even in a haze of broken china and disorientation.
Eyes snapped open, trying to make out in the darkness. Enara loomed over me, eyes frantic, gasping, clutching what was left of an extremely expensive and now very broken ceremonial vase. Her hair was loose and wild, cheeks flushed, eyes bulging with some kind of wild fear.
Oh, bravo, I thought vaguely. She's finally flipped and chosen murder over our complicated feelings.
"Enara," I began slowly, warily, raising my hands in a calming gesture, "if you're going to kill me "
