There was no sun when Aisling opened her eyes. There was no soft grass tickling her neck. There was no feeling pulling at her chest. And there was no one, no one but her. And for a while, just for a while, Aisling willed herself to believe that she was still there… Still in the sun… Still in the grass… And feeling. Feeling something other than anger, something other than pain, something other than fear. Desperation gnawed at the fringes of Aisling’s sanity as she clenched her eyes shut, the far reaches of her consciousness trying to conjure up the very thing she hated so much, but yet craved more than anything else. A shuddering breath in and still nothing. This was all a dream, a bad dream—a nightmare, but a dream nonetheless. Rolling over onto her side, Aisling curled into a fetal position, wrapping her arms around herself in a poor parody of a warm embrace when all around her, it was anything but warm. It was just so cold, so cold all the time, yet Aisling just couldn’t wake up.