Fingertips in the Glow

A soft violet glow washed across the ridges behind me. I blinked. My chest stirred with a tiny, quiet breath. I stayed still for a moment, listening to the gentle quiet of the room. Slowly, carefully, I lifted my right arm into the dim light. My fingers curled, then relaxed—I could move them. I reached an inch toward the textured warmth of the lavender blanket beneath my head and gently pressed its soft fleece ribs. It felt warm and real. A quiet murmur escaped my lips, and I let my hand rest softly against the cloth, watching the soft shadows above.