The one from her childhood, not the one she lived in now. Except it wasn’t that either. Instead of the floor there was a whiteness. The walls and ceiling were made of the same stuff. But the bed was the same one she’d slept in as a child. All her favorite toys were piled on the kitten-patterned quilt, just as they had been all those years ago. A rocking chair sat in what would be the corner of the room with the shawl her mother used to wear as she rocked and sang lullabies to her. The window with the lace bunny curtains hung to one side of the room, suspended in midair. It was in her haven, her mind’s safe place. The place she came to when she was scared. Nothing could touch her. Nothing could go wrong or hurt her. Everything here was right and safe. But it wasn’t all right. And she didn’t feel safe. Something was here with her. Something cold, something dark, something foreign. It moved beyond her vision, swirled in the mist.
