Only recently--after gaining her Persona--had she begun to at all. A few (her friends, the garden) left pleasant, warm impressions in the morning, and made the day a little brighter. More often, though less so as time went on, they were blurred recollections of cold and darkness and pain, fragments of others' dungeons and long stretches of her own, breaking through her subconscious.
This was new. New and different and real enough to leave an unpleasant chill in her veins.
She laid there for a moment, fixing the details in her memory, then sat up and went to her computer.