2
The morning came, but Nynevarre did not.
Oriane woke to a heavy grey sky, rain-infused and swollen with clouds. The biting chill of her room took her by surprise as she threw back the counterpane, accustomed as her body was to the soporific heat of summer. She did not instantly recall the events of the day before, but when her gaze fell upon the velvet gown and the mossy shawl that lay carefully spread upon the chest at the foot of her bed, memory awoke.
She dressed quickly, shivering, and neatened her hair as best she could without the aid of either a mirror or a hair brush. Her mind, she found, did not want to dwell too closely upon her predicament, or the extreme strangeness of her surroundings. Since her tranquillity was best preserved by following its dictates she kept her though
