After a long, exhausting day of bridal lessons and political intrigue I dreamed of home. The scorching Arizona heat invaded from all sides as I casually strolled down the street my apartment building was on. The smell of sage hung heavy in the air and sweat made my shirt stick to my back. A perfectly normal day.
My apartment came into view and once I opened the door I was greeted with all of my bookshelves filled with paperbacks and DVDs.
When I was abruptly woken by a maid there were tears on my face. Waking up in a cold stone room, albeit a lavishly decorated one, was the last thing I wanted.
As the maid helped dress me in yet another restrictive cage I managed not to sob but the tears wouldn't stop flowing. Why did I have to dream about home? That was the cruelest dream I could have had. Being in this world for more than six months, I had only cried once when Adele reminded me of Abby. Was the stress of trying to fix everything finally getting to me?
