The smell of freshly brewed coffee teased Mirabelle out of the daze she had fallen into for god knew how long. It was almost comical how her nose twitched even as more of her brain cells sought to interpret what it meant.
Maybe it was her body’s way of telling her she needed food. But then again, the smell was certainly different from the combined smell of antiseptic and ink she had become accustomed to. So maybe it was just her reaction to something different.
Blinking like someone coming out of a deep sleep, she looked around for the source of processed coffee beans. Huh? She didn’t have to look far; it seemed. When had that gotten there? She mused in confusion.
A cup sat in front of her, the steam rising from it in lazy spirals. Mirabelle had no idea who had brought the cup or how
