Jannelle
The first thing I notice is the smell, antiseptic herbs mixed with the musty scent of old stone. My head pounds like someone took a hammer to my skull, and when I try to open my eyes, the dim candlelight feels like daggers stabbing into my brain.
Where am I?
I force myself to sit up, ignoring the wave of nausea that crashes over me. The room is small, sterile, with white-washed walls and a single narrow window. Medical supplies line wooden shelves, and the familiar castle stonework tells me I'm still trapped within these walls.
The infirmary. Not the Southern Kingdom. Not Uncle Edmund's warm palace with its golden tapestries and gentle servants who called me "Princess."
