St. Barachiel ≁ Chiara Baratti (fiorebianco) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-11-08 23:40:00 |
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Warmth was what first infiltrated her senses, the sunlight splaying across one side of her face. Like a soft caress, it brushed her bare shoulder, warming her body inch by inch. Feeling strangely groggy and pained, for reasons she couldn't place, Barachiel slowly allowed her lashes to flutter open. Light filtered through and painted the back of her eyelids red, and when those lovely blues were finally open, the room was too bright to register.
Within a few moments, her eyes grew accustomed to the natural lighting in the room, and solid forms began to appear. Furniture. Distant walls. A couch, and then not long after, a person occupying one of its cushions. Disoriented, Barachiel blinked once. Her gaze finally fell to the restraints wrapped around all of her limbs, keeping her bound to a chair that she had no recollection of being forced into.
Thoughts of this situation screaming kidnap faded when her stare, at long last, focused on George several feet away from her. She didn't say a word; her lips didn't wish to part as much as her throat refused to work.