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Scott drank his tea. It was very comfortable here by the fire—warm and welcoming. If only his head didn’t feel as though someone had jammed it in between a giant nutcracker, and in the process managed to take away some of the thoughts and associations and familiarity which made him what he normally was.

But how did he know what he normally was? He didn't know what to believe. He still had childhood memories. He knew his family and his job, but most memories of the past months were missing so he was confused. He put the cup down and looked at Vivian, which was halfway to a cure in itself. She was wearing a soft wool dress, the color of blueberries, and her hair was loose—like the moon against the backdrop of a nearly dark sky. Her legs were spread in front of her and she had kicked her shoes off. He might be only two days out of a coma, but that didn’t mean that all his senses were dead. He might have a little difficulty wanting food as he usually did, but the stirring leap of awarene