Merida's POV
The smell of lavender and fresh bread filled my nostrils as consciousness returned. Soft yarn ran through my fingers, the familiar rhythm of knit one, purl two coming as naturally as breathing. I looked down at the half-finished scarf in my lap, the deep purple wool exactly the shade I had always loved.
This was... my old sitting room?
The one from the house I had lived in before everything went to hell? Sunlight streamed through lace curtains, dust motes dancing in the golden rays. My favorite armchair cradled me perfectly, the worn spots exactly where they should be.
How was this possible?
"Morning, Mum! Did you eat the last pancake again?"
I jerked my head up to see Maeve walking in from the kitchen, very much alive, very much grown up, very much not possessed by an ancient evil. She wore jeans and an oversized sweater, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun. Her gray eyes sparkled with mock annoyance as she waved an empty plate at me.
