"Good morning, Your Highness. Wakey, wakey."
Dora's brow furrowed at the absurd voice echoing through her mind. Who on earth was speaking to her like this, as if she were some useless damsel in distress? The words and the tone, grated on her nerves, dragging her further from the fog of sleepiness. Slowly, she realized that she wasn't being awakened but something else.
Her senses began to sharpen, and it dawned on her that she wasn't asleep—or if she was, it wasn't in a bed. Her body ached as if she'd been in an uncomfortable position for too long. Then, like a bolt of lightning, it struck her. The last thing she remembered was talking to Evana when she'd been suddenly called away. The memory was hazy, but the details were sharp enough to stir her from the remnants of her stupor.
