A fingertip twitching on her pillow case of white linen is the first sensation she awakens with.

Next, that particular clear light of morning, shining with luminous pressure onto and through eyelids determinedly shut against it.  Such thin membrane could only fail.

With a groan of annoyance, the pillow is rearranged over her face: wrinkles may ensue, but those five, ten minutes more of rest gained from the action are worth it.

Last night was a late one – her body is feeling it even though still in bed.

To come to, sense that ache deep in the bones, that dull pain that warns against even a subtle, satisfying fantasy few minutes, is wearying.

More often lately she wakes thus; must be getting old, the years and wear and tear of lifestyle catching up with her.

Maybe; maybe not.

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