Was that real? Sora asked herself, whilst she put her hands in the palms of her hands. She silently prayed it wasn’t.
The mug with milk and honey had been placed on the table. Sora figured she had done it in her sleep. That was the last thing on her mind right now.
Her main concern was the dream.
Why could I see? she asked, almost crying in frustration that her sight hadn’t been restored.
Who was that Miranda girl?
Sora got up, and felt her way around to the couch. She sat down, a mixture of confusion, curiosity, and slight envy coursing through her.
Sora touched the window above the couch; it was vaguely, faintly warm. Outside, a stray bird chirped.
I slept until morning?
She put a lock of her hair behind her ear, and closed her eyes.
“Sora, honey?” her mother’s voice nearly sent Sora flying through the roof.
“What are you doing up so early? It’s seven in the morning, and it’s a Sunday,” her mother said.
I’d rather not mention.