[When Maelle opens her eyes, the golden warmth of the morning sun nearly blinds her. Her lashes flutter as she focuses on her window, the sheer curtains doing little to filter the light. Sitting up, it's better, but it's not until her feet touch the floor that she remembers.
Her room.
Her room. Her room, not the cold dark of the camp. Her bed is made, soft and plush, so different from her thin bedroll. Her wardrobe is ajar, uniform peering out at her from the dark. It's clean. She's clean, when she looks down at her hands, and she can smell coffee and bread rather than sweat and blood and dirt.
She can hear movement. The familiar creak of the floorboards. She's not alone.
For a terrible moment the hope in her heart is so much it hurts like a knife. Like her heart might break. It's a fire.
Maelle hops to her feet and throws open her door, frantic as she rushes out.
MAELLE'S DREAM
Her room.
Her room. Her room, not the cold dark of the camp. Her bed is made, soft and plush, so different from her thin bedroll. Her wardrobe is ajar, uniform peering out at her from the dark. It's clean. She's clean, when she looks down at her hands, and she can smell coffee and bread rather than sweat and blood and dirt.
She can hear movement. The familiar creak of the floorboards. She's not alone.
For a terrible moment the hope in her heart is so much it hurts like a knife. Like her heart might break. It's a fire.
Maelle hops to her feet and throws open her door, frantic as she rushes out.
Please, please.]