The mornings after were always the hardest. The more Annabelle travelled during her nights, the harder it became to wake up to the reality of the world. And the reality of that world was mundane. Her nights were filled with excitement and wonder, the strangest moments, fascinating people, fear, love, beauty. Her days were a dirge of school, and teachers, and writing, and maths, and parents, and annoying brothers, and that damned beep, beep, beep of the alarm clock piercing through her brain. Yes, mornings were bad.
She slightly opened an eye, a token gesture to a day that she didn’t want to see, and blearily looked at the clock; 6:30am. The day could wait, it would still be there waiting for her later. She pulled the warm and welcoming duvet back over herself, and rolled back into the centrefold the bed. Just another twenty minutes, she could travel far in just twenty minutes…
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