Yelena's face was glowing. Her cheeks were flushed a healthy, vibrant pink.
Her eyes were limpid, dreamy, unfocused, like she was seeing the world through a soft, hazy filter.
Her hair, usually immaculate, was disheveled and her clothes were rumpled, as if she had dressed in a hurry.
She was doing her best to regain her composure—smoothing her dress, tucking her hair behind her ears, adjusting her collar.
But she was failing miserably.
Fauna stared. Then she pointed.
"Yelena, why do you look like that!? You look like you just went through a storm and came out the other side." She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What exactly did you do in there?"
Yelena blinked slowly, as if surfacing from a very pleasant dream.
A satisfied, far-too-dreamy smile spread across her lips.
