A Firm Grip on the Handle

A sudden warmth prickled through my fingers, and I realized my hand wasn't frozen in plastic anymore. Right beside me, another familiar potato figure stood quiet and still. I took a steadying breath, curled my white fingers tightly around the red purse handle, and gave it a small, deliberate tug. It lifted cleanly off the floor, swinging just an inch as my arm bent at my own will. Everything felt tidy, perfectly in place, and wonderfully awake.