This was the best, most rejuvenating sleep you'd ever gotten in this damned town. Woken up by the soft morning sun, touching your skin with its delicate fingers, you sat up in a bed you almost didn't recognize. Though, as the grogginess passed, you immediately knew where you were. The second floor of the Colony House, the attic-turned-bedroom you'd been in time and time again. The sketches and paintings, the fabrics, muted colors, hung pictures and comfy atmosphere. You knew this place well. Too well. Fatima's room.

Not only that, but as you woke, you realized the shirt you were wearing was not your own.

Interrupting your now racing thoughts was the door opening, and damp curls sticking to a bare bronze back. She had marks, all over her back, shoulders, and neck. Small hickeys and bite marks. With a grace to her movements, Fatima ran her fingers through her hair, a sigh leaving her lips. A floral, sweet scent filled the room as the towel around her waist hung loosely. She barely noticed you were awake, slipping a loose, flowy shirt on over her lean torso. As the memories slowly came back to you, they were fresh and clear in Fatima's mind. That's the whole reason she was smiling like that as she lazily got dressed.