All Better Now.

Day One.

Elara woke to sunlight spilling across the floor in stripes she did not remember seeing before. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and rain. Her chest felt lighter than it had in months. She flexed her fingers, then her toes. She was awake. Finally.

She tried to sit. The bed groaned under her. The nurse’s face was familiar but not quite right and her jaw tilted slightly too far while her pen paused midair for a moment too long. Elara smiled and said nothing, letting herself feel steady as she placed one foot on the floor, then the other.

"All better now", she thought.

Walking down the corridor, she noticed small details she had never paid attention to. The tiles reflected the light differently today, glimmering like water. The sound of her own breathing was sharper, closer. She passed another patient. Their eyes met hers for a heartbeat, then looked away. Everything seemed ordinary, yet something lingered at the edge of perception.

By afternoon she ate slowly, savoring each bite. Her mind wandered to fragments of fever and weakness she could barely place. She remembered hands that could not lift themselves, a body that had not obeyed her. She pushed the memory aside. She was awake now. That was enough.

In the quiet evening she journaled, careful letters filling pages. When she reread the sentences, some words seemed unfamiliar, as if someone else had written them. She shrugged, letting it go.

She dreamed of her sister’s voice, calling her from the hallway. But her sister had died three years ago.

Day Two.

Sunlight came again, warmer now, and a soft rain tapped against the window. The bed felt different beneath her, sheets smoother, cooler. Every sensation seemed sharper. She touched her arms, her legs, checking that all was still real. It felt real enough.

Breakfast tasted sweeter than she remembered. She walked slowly along the corridor, counting steps, noting the faint hum of machines. Faces of staff appeared familiar yet slightly wrong, the way light sometimes shifts and everything seems almost another shape.

Later she leaned against a window. Sunlight struck the floor in the same stripes as yesterday, but one stripe curved slightly differently. Her reflection rippled in the glass, like water disturbed by a finger. A shadow moved where it should not have been, or maybe it was her imagination. She smiled to herself.

"All better now."

The day passed with small triumphs. She stood longer, walked farther, laughed softly at the ease of movement. At night she slept, dreams blurred. Hallways stretched and folded. Machines hummed differently, voices whispered she could not place, hands that should move would not.

She dreamed of a version of herself standing in the rain, arms outstretched, laughing. That Elara wore red. She had never owned red.

Day Three.

Morning came, sunlight falling at an angle she did not expect. She rose from bed and walked the corridor, steady as yesterday, yet something felt… off. A sound repeated in the distance, a word she almost understood, then lost.

Breakfast came. She tasted it without savor, noting details she could not explain. Her reflection in the floor did not quite match her posture. Perhaps the tiles were uneven, or perhaps she had shifted without noticing. Perhaps she had always moved this way and never noticed. She could not tell.

She wandered outside. The sun felt real. The earth beneath her feet solid. The wind brushed her face. And yet memories lingered: fever, weakness, the sensation of moving while her body resisted. She tried to dismiss them. She was here. She was safe. She was awake.

By mid-afternoon she rested in her room, eyes closed, listening to the quiet. The sunlight fell slightly differently than it had in the morning. A nurse handed her a cup she did not remember receiving. The hum of machines seemed almost musical, but not exactly. Small inconsistencies brushed her mind like ripples in a pond.

Night came, and when she closed her eyes, the room seemed to shift ever so slightly. Tubes traced her arms. Monitors pulsed steadily. She tried to lift a hand. It moved, but sluggishly, as if underwater. A faint whisper brushed against her thoughts, words indistinct, almost familiar.

She dreamed of a hallway with no end. She walked it barefoot, and the walls whispered her name.

Day Four.

She woke to silence. No rain. No hum. Sunlight was gone, replaced by a soft glow that seemed to come from nowhere. Her bed was smooth, seamless, like a single piece of glass. She sat up. Limbs responded, but with a strange delay.

The nurse entered. Her face was the same as yesterday, and the day before. Elara stared. The nurse smiled, too wide, and handed her a cup. The liquid shimmered, changing with each breath. She drank. It tasted like celery.

Walking the corridor, she thought she saw herself reflected in the walls in multiple versions, each slightly different. One limped. One smiled. One stared back with hollow eyes. She kept walking.

At the end of the hall was a door she had never seen. It opened before she touched it. Inside was a room identical to her own, empty. A journal lay on the desk. She opened it. Her handwriting filled the pages, but the entries were dated years into the future.

She closed the book.

"All better now", she whispered.

Day Five.

She woke in a different body.

It was hers, but not. Taller. Stronger. Her skin shimmered faintly, reflecting light in ways she could not name. The room was vast, sterile, humming with unseen energy. She stood. The floor rippled subtly beneath her weight.

Outside, the sky fractured strangely, colors bending unnaturally. Two suns hung low, casting twin shadows. She touched the glass. It was warm, familiar, yet alien.

The nurse arrived. No longer human. Voice musical, eyes like polished stone. Elara did not flinch. She asked no questions. She simply nodded.

She walked the corridor again. It curved endlessly, looping in impossible angles. She passed others noticing versions of herself, the nurse, strangers she half-recognized. None spoke.

At the end of the corridor was a mirror. She stepped in.

Day Six.

She woke to herself.

Sunlight fell in perfect stripes. The bed creaked. The nurse smiled, human again. Breakfast was warm. The journal was hers.

She walked the corridor. Tiles ordinary. Hum of machines steady. She passed a patient. Their eyes met hers. They looked away.

She smiled.

"All better now."

But somewhere, in the polished floor, a flicker remained. A version of herself still walking, still searching, still waking.