Sheets. She lifted her head. She was in a massive fourposter she didn't recognize. With the curtains drawn, it created the impression of being walled in on all sides by shadow. Her breaths began to come easier once she had parted the curtains. No cosmos. No forests. No voices. She was safe— Until she realized that, beneath the sheets, she was completely nude. Maybe not so safe after all. What the fuck? Catherine wrapped them around her body, kicking the bed curtains out of her way. Her rash gesture had revealed a room whose cost per night was probably tantamount to her sheets' thread count. Unless she was still dreaming after all. She felt like she was looking at the physical manifestation of fall. A burnt-orange rug covered the floor, patterned with mulberry and oak leaves. The images looked so real that when she slid her feet off the mattress to the floor she half-expected to hear them crunch. The workmanship was incredible, and wasn't limited to the rug, which felt solid enough beneath her feet and not at all dream-like.
