Lyla
Fire. That's what my eyelids felt like—burning, scorching fire.
My body was a collection of aches. It was as if each muscle was woven with pain, and they were currently screaming in protest as I came to consciousness slowly. Even breathing hurt; my lungs were raw as though I'd inhaled smoke for hours.
Despite the pain, I finally forced my eyes open. The light pierced like needles, and I blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of my surroundings. An unfamiliar ceiling came into focus—wooden beams with strange carvings I didn't recognize. The walls were a warm amber color, adorned with handwoven tapestries depicting women all dressed in white, wearing flower crowns on their heads and running through moonlit forests.
Where was I?
