Enya opened her eyes to the blue sky. Not gray. Not cloud-choked. This sky was clean and wide - a soft, bright blue with a few small clouds drifting lazily across it like they had nowhere urgent to be.
For a second, Enya didn't move. She sat upright on a bed that felt too soft to belong anywhere real. The sheets weren't stiff, and they didn't smell like metal or damp fabric. They smelled like sun-warmed cotton and something faintly sweet - like crushed petals on fingers.
Around her, a garden spread in every direction.
