It's like emerging from water after being submerged to the point that her lungs are burning, begging for air. Lenore opens her eyes. Not much, but just a sliver. She closes them, then tries again and blinks until the blurry film clears from her vision.
The ceiling above her is unfamiliar. It's more extravagant than she's used to, with designs painted in muted colors, but she's not sure if the designs are supposed to mean something. They have enough color to be appreciated without being distracting, even with the dim light that filters into the room through the parted curtains over the balcony door. In Barrowmere, her ceiling is blocked by the canopy on her bed, and she's greeted by dark fabric above her in the mornings. Maybe that isn't how most noble households are, but she's grown used to it. The townhouse is the same, and both leave her feeling safe in a way that she's still trying to believe she deserves.
