*Tristan*

I awake, momentarily disoriented by the silken sheet beneath my back and the velvety canopy above my head. I am as bare as a newborn baby, my wound uncovered. The stitches pulls when I roll onto my hip. And there she is, turned on her side, a hand resting beneath her cheek, her long lashes lying gently against her skin. Her knees are drawn up, her nightgown having gathered at her calves. Her toes curl and unfurl as though she is dreaming of skipping over green fields. I inhale her fragrance with each breath, and watch her rhythmic breathing.

She has left a lamp burning just low enough that...