Something flavorful, maybe sausages. She was starving. She opened her eyes and immediately lost her appetite. She was on the low mattress in the small room in the white stone building where she had arrived the previous night. If she was still dreaming, it was the longest and most detailed dream she had ever had. Clothes had been laid out for her across a stool—a red top and wide-legged black pants, as well as a pair of black cloth ballet flats that didn’t look all that different from her Skechers. She scooped them up and scooted into the bathroom before anyone could see her. Once she had dressed and combed out her hair, she felt a little more prepared to face the day. There didn’t seem to be a proper mirror in this place, but a shiny chrome square hanging on the bathroom wall gave her a wavering reflection. Her chin-length black hair seemed lustrous as always, her dark eyes thoughtful and measuring. Her face was deceptively serene, belying her inner disquiet. She took a deep breath.
