Stance on the Seam

Consciousness arrived all at once. I was lying sideways against soft, wine-red fabric threaded with pale stitched lines. My grip tightened around the miniature hilts in my hands. I moved. Pushing against the cushioned surface with one blade, I swung my legs forward and hoisted my weight upright. The woven seams beneath my boots felt solid enough to hold a defensive stance. I planted both feet firmly over the white stitching, held my position, and stayed alert.