Tabitha
My face is pressed to a silken cloud. Did my bed become extra comfortable last night? Even the sheets feel softer. The mattress embraces me like it’s molded to my form.
I crack my eyes and try to move. I feel like I slept for a couple of years.
The room around me is dark, but automatically, I know it's not home. I’m not in my cute converted train car where I live in Taos, New Mexico.
Where am I? My brain is slow to come online. Why can’t I remember how I got here?
The bed is huge. My bed back home is way smaller, and it’s not surrounded by a thick brocade curtain that cocoons the king-sized bed in shadow. The drapes hang from a four-poster frame and even cover the top. It’s a rich red and gold tapestry the likes of which I've seen in antique auctions that I frequent.
Is that
