Light and pain. They came as one, a spear to pierce the eye and scramble the brain, which sent Lucia into a wincing spasm which only made the pain hurt more. She curled in on herself, reaching for her temples with her hands and massaging, rubbing away the agony with excruciating slowness. But as the pain receded and the shores of awareness were laid bare, she realised she had no memory of where she was or how she had got there.

She remembered a supermarket, a can of chopped tomatoes, the red of which seemed to burn her. She remembered an old man with a cane who staggered across the aisles smelling of beer. She remembered hunting for change in her purse, then flipping to her card instead past a worn old photo of… of someone she should remember. A young woman, mouse-brown hair, which curled at the tips and a pair of glasses just seconds away from being pushed up her nose. Lucia could imagine the action, but couldn’t recall the woman’s name or how they knew each other.

She remembered nothing after that and nothing within that gave any clue as to how she came to be waking up… wherever she was.

She braved the light again, watching through eyes half-shuttered to glean some detail of her surroundings. As the light faded from searing white to a dull, daylight blue, those details seemed to fill in like the finishing touches on a painting. A vase. A Lamp. A mirror.

She was in a well-appointed living room, surrounding by expensive furnishings, but, despite a chaise nearby, she herself was on the floor. Cool tiles. Marble, perhaps. Above, something approximating a chandelier hung in droplets of crystal and chrome. She didn’t recognise any of it.

She sat up, slowly, so as not to disturb the dull cloud that was dampening her headache, and saw that, across from her, the walls of the room opened into a huge window, through which daylight poured like a cool cascade. Outside, skyscrapers towered. The skyline was unfamiliar.

A faint mew came from behind and Lucia turned (too quickly!) to see a black cat skitter in from another room - possibly a hall? - and run along the edge of the furniture towards a door on the opposite side; a door left tantalisingly ajar.

Carefully, steadying herself, Lucia rose to her feet and took a few wobbly steps towards the doorway. She paused a moment, wavered in woozy confusion, then made to take another, uncertain step.

She reached for the doorhandle, felt the cool brass on her fingertips, her palm, then a sudden pressure as the door was pushed towards her. Someone was coming through and all Lucia could think was panic and pain and-

She stumbled backwards, bumped into the chaise and spilled over the backrest to land back on the floor, legs in the air. Her head was swimming in pain, her vision blurred, so all she saw of the person stepping towards her was shape and colour. Tall, dark-skinned, possibly male?

Then a voice, deep and sonorous greeted her from the impressionist cloud of person above her.

“Lucia,” he said, warmly, “it has been too long.”