Damon opened his eyes slowly, expecting the usual weight of his body, that lazy resistance of muscles after sleeping too long.
It didn't come.
Instead, he felt… nothing.
No pain. No stiffness. No tiredness.
"Hmm…", he murmured, frowning.
He sat up in bed too quickly.
So quickly that, for a second, the world seemed to lag a whole step behind him, as if reality had stumbled trying to keep up.
Damon blinked. "…Okay."
He looked around the room. Empty. The bed impeccably made, the arcane lamps off, Elizabeth's tea absent. No sign of servants, nor of Aria, nor of Lily. Absolute silence.
He ran a hand over his arm.
His skin was cold, smooth… too firm.
"This isn't normal," he commented to himself.
Damon put his feet on the floor and stood up.
Or tried to. The movement was so slight he almost lost his balance—not from weakness, but the opposite. It was as if gravity had decided to go easy on him specifically.
He took a step.
Just one.
And suddenly he was in front of the door.
