There was always the moment on waking when Mélanie forgot she’d been captured.
It was a moment where she would think she was in her own bed, that she should get up soon to take care of chores, and then she could have a nice breakfast. Sometimes she’d start planning out what she could have – eggs from the chickens, had she bought bread from Mrs. Bittner across the street yet? Maybe some honey from the hives.
Inevitably, she’d notice that something about the bed was wrong, that it was too hard or too cold or she’d shift and a chain would clink, or the sun would be in her eyes in the wrong direction. Continue reading