The first thing I became aware of was the smell.
Not the dank, musty scent of stone and decay that had filled my nostrils in that horrible underground chamber. Not the metallic tang of blood or the acrid bite of fear-sweat. This was different. This was... familiar.
Lavender fabric softener. The faint vanilla candle that Marcie always kept burning in the hallway. And underneath it all, that particular combination of old wood and sunshine that belonged to only one place in the world.
Home.
My eyes fluttered open, and I found myself staring up at a ceiling I'd memorized during countless sleepless nights. The same hairline crack running from the light fixture to the corner. The same water stain shaped vaguely like a butterfly near the window. The same pale yellow paint that I'd helped pick out when I was twelve and thought sunshine walls would make everything better.
I was in my childhood bedroom.
