My version on Succubus Shadows
I DON'T OWN ANYTHING!
Georgina has just woken up from the three days of recovery she endured after being trapped in the dream world. This is a little different than the book describes. Also, in my version Georgina was tortured for almost 6 months. Everything before this is exactly the same as the books.
I was awake. My eyes had yet to open but I felt the harboring touch of bed sheets beneath me. The cooling sensation of the overhead fan brushed my shin lightly. A familiar buzz at my feet set any nerves I might have had about my predicament to rest. I was home; I could feel it. They say that home is where the heart is, I focused on my heart. Yep, definitely home. I opened my eyes to a white ceiling covered in tiny lumps. Narrowing my sight, I focused on the unique structure of each individual's profile, how sharp it was, how plump it was. To some this might seem a boorish and tedious action, but honestly I couldn't be more entertained. Because seeing something other than complete darkness was somewhat of a new experience for me. I don't know how long I was there because time had no meaning, and neither did anything else. The purring I'd heard before grew louder, I dared to look towards the source and found a cat, my cat. Its name escaped me but I knew it belonged to me; its face reminded me of home. Home, there's that word again. The very name of a place I could no longer remember. I know what it feels like but I can't recall its appearance. Jerome said that was just aftershock of what I've been through. He's probably right, I'll remember, it's just a matter of time. My eyes investigated the room I was in. Nothing about it seemed familiar. I slowly rose from my bed, very aware of the tenderness of my body. Everything hurt. I'd been told I was tortured mentally through my memories, but right now it felt like more of a physical labor. My body is weak, my arms can barely hold me up and I don't relish the thought of trying to stand either. My legs hang off the side of the bed, dangling timidly, as if the smallest burst of wind might shatter them into a million pieces. I don't remember a lot of things, but I most definitely don't remember being so pathetic. My will to continue any kind of movement grew smaller and any determination to leave this solitude dimmed. What was the point? Why try to move, why try to leave? I could just stay here, lie back down and let sleep consume me, and pray for death to take me. My body fell backwards and crashed hard on the covers. Ouch. The once calming breeze of the fan turned cold and unkind. Reaching for the covers I stroked something hard on my fingertips. I was unwilling to tilt my head towards whatever it was, but managed to identify it with touch. The object was small, hard, a box of some sort. I cupped my hand and felt its light bulk. It wasn't a smooth case; it held occasional imprints on the surface accompanied harsh scrapings. My intrigue grew as I lifted the box towards my eyesight. I knew this item, it held that sense of home id recalled earlier, this was something important to me, and I knew it. I unclasped the metal side latch and beheld the treasure inside.