LYRA
The cold floor was the first thing I felt.
It pressed against my skin like winter stone, stealing what little warmth remained in my body. For a moment, I stayed still, caught somewhere between sleep and pain.
Then I opened my eyes slowly.
My vision was blurred, the world swimming in pale shapes and shadows. Above me, a high ceiling stretched into view, lined with dark wooden beams carved in old patterns I couldn't make out clearly. A chandelier hung from the center, its crystal drops catching the dim light and scattering it across the room like fractured stars.
I blinked hard.
Once.
Twice.
The shapes sharpened slightly.
A groan slipped from my lips as I tried to sit up. The moment I moved, the room spun violently around me. My stomach twisted, and I had to brace one hand against the floor to stop myself from collapsing again.
Where am I?
For one brief, foolish moment, relief rushed through me.
Had I made it?
