I had decided that this dream was in desperate need of the discovery and production of Ibuprofen.
I'd felt a little better when I could move around—slowly, wincingly—in my room. Abigail arranged a bath, and that was heaven. By the time I was re-dressed and walking—very slowly—to dinner I was optimistic that nothing was permanently damaged. But I was exhausted, and uncomfortable, and something uneasy rattled in the back of my mind and I couldn't shake it.
I needed silence and stillness. Especially when the two different times at dinner that David caught my eye and opened his mouth like he might call to me, someone else interrupted him and took his attention.
So once he had been called away to a meeting and the other Select gathered in a large library for games of very ladylike cards and reading, I excused myself to go to bed.
No one cared, except Emory. She hugged me quickly and whispered that she hoped I'd feel better.
