Naomi drifted away from dreams she couldn’t remember, away from the surreal emptiness of something she couldn’t name and into snug comfort. Warmth bathed her skin. Soothed her mind, her agitated soul. She was home. She inhaled, smelled burning resin and the wonderful fragrance of pine as she drew it in, wrapping it around her like a blanket. For the first time in years, nothing hurt. Nothing ached. Nothing burned or throbbed or bit sharply. Naomi was whole, peaceful. She smiled, opening her eyes. The mahogany mantel gleamed in the golden light, polished to within an inch of its life and so shiny she could almost see her reflection in the beautiful sheen. The fire blazed merrily, cast a friendly warmth throughout the study. There were no photographs framed on the mantel. No family pictures to tell her where she was, but she didn’t need them to know that it was safe.
