She hoped for the last scenario, the very improbably one, so steadily that she started questioning her sanity. Waking up in a sweat, the covers at the foot of her somewhat absurd, grand bed, she was terrified of opening her eyes. Wiping the warm pool of sweat down towards her navel, she started shivering. The room was already brightly lit with the sunshine of the day, a sunlight softened by sheer linen curtains. Without opening her eyes, she pulled the thick ocean-coloured covers over her head and finally let her eyelids open. She reached her arm out of her cocoon-like fort, in a reflex-like fashion, towards a glass of water sitting atop a stack of several books. 


Mornings were easy; evenings were far more difficult.