She lay on the couch, not moving.
The room was quiet at this point and she was alone. Her period dress was not hers. She only wore it in order to play her part. The surrounding furnishings were in keeping with the time. A time long past. She would need to tell her story. Later, when the others arrive, she could help enact a series of events that explain her circumstance. In fact, the others would tell their own stories.
Meanwhile, with her head propped sideways on a cushion, her eyes where set looking upward. She saw nothing; neither did she breathe.
Somewhere up there in the black void, above the shimmering strands, something would foretell her every move.
