I next opened my eyes to the light of dawn. I was in a room with stone walls and a wooden floor with great huge windows letting in the morning rays. The bed was high and comfortably with four posts and a wide selection of pillows and cushions.
I felt the soft silk covers between my fingers and furrowed my eyebrows as I looked at the room. It was strange. Everything felt completely alien yet weirdly familiar at the same time. I'd read every book on the shelf, seen every painting on the wall before and I even felt some kind of connection to the vase of gentle pink flowers on the desk. I stared for a few moments longer before standing up and walking over to them. They were fresh, clearly picked earlier this morning, and soft when I caressed their fragrant petals and sweet when I smelt their scent. Azaleas. Yes, that's right. They bloomed every summer in the pack I grew up in.