Dinner at the Sonder estate was… well, a lot.
Jot bad. Not awkward. Just a lot.
Eirlys had taken the head of the table like a queen in an antique painting; back straight, chin tilted, her wine glass moving like she was born rehearsing for a royal court.
Hailie, in her soft voice, kept asking me about the food and telling me about the little differences between each dish. I spent half the meal wondering if the forks were numbered for a reason and if I'd get scolded for picking the wrong one.
By the time dessert was cleared, I was already fighting a slow, creeping drowsiness.
Eirlys called it "an early night" and let everyone scatter to their rooms, I can sense that she was really disappointed in me.
I figured I'd just crash instantly the moment I touched the pillow. But… no.
The bed in my guest room was way too soft.
