'Happy birthday, Sora," came a soft and gentle voice, echoing like a lullaby whispered into the void—a phantom sound floating through the dark abyss of Sora's weary mind.
The lady, who had been unconscious, slowly stirred from the black embrace of slumber. Her heavy eyelids struggled before fluttering open to meet the sight of an unfamilair ceiling—vaulted and noble in its bearing that resembled that of a grand home interior. The architecture was a marvelous and masterful harmony of polished wooden beams interlocked with precisely laid stone walls, their craftsmanship suggesting a meticulous hand had forged this union between earth and timber.
