burn, burn, burn your life down

It's been three days, maybe four. The fact that it feels even harder to keep track of time than it was in Hälsingland is probably deeply ironic, with days that feel like the length they're supposed to be and a sun that actually sets, but she's spent a lot of that time fitfully asleep, unsure of where she was every time she awoke. Although she's gotten the whole explanation, Dani still sort of can't help but wonder if this is all some elaborate dream or trip, and she's actually still back there, where it's never really dark and the trees and flowers pulse with her heartbeat. She doesn't really think so, though. Shaky and unmoored as she might be, it feels like everything she took is out of her system now, leaving her raw and small and tired in its wake.

She can't stay in bed forever, though, so eventually, she heads out, wearing a clothes that she got from — someone, or somewhere — after she arrived. It's hard to remember now, most of that time a blur, but she's grateful for it. At least the fresh air makes her a little clearer-headed, lets her breathe a little easier, the mild spring weather such a far cry from the hot Swedish summer, and at least she doesn't have to wander around in the white frock she arrived in. She feels out of place enough as it is, as if there's a neon sign over her head broadcasting the fact that she's new here and doesn't have the first idea what's going on, apparent to everyone and drawing all of their attention.

That self-consciousness weighs heavily on her as she walks down the sidewalk, and she instinctively draws in on herself as a result, shoulders hunched a bit. She's not even sure where she's going, mostly because there's so much she needs to do. Her apartment needs food, she needs more clothes, and at some point, she has to figure out what the hell she's even going to do here. Instead, after stopping and waiting for a light to change, she winds up standing in place, overwhelmed and oblivious to the fact that it's switched to walk again.