Twisted Sanctuary

Lyra stirred to the sound of birdsong—soft, distant, too peaceful to be real.

Her head pounded. Her mouth was dry. Her limbs felt like they were wrapped in lead.

She tried to sit up, but her body resisted. Every movement was sluggish, like she was swimming through molasses. Her vision blurred, then slowly adjusted to the dim light filtering through unfamiliar curtains.

Wooden walls. A high ceil