OOM: Suite 130

Sunlight pours like butterscotch through the gap in the curtains, gathering in one long thin strand along the ceiling, then the walls. As the sun rises it melts down, pooling at last on the tangle of blankets that marks the bed. Though the gap is thin the sun is persistent, making firm arguments in brightness and warmth that yes, it is morning, and no reasonable person should attempt to ignore that fact through such frivolous action as maintaining sleep.

But Veronica has always had something of a rebellious streak. With a muffled sigh of discontent she turns away from the window, the duvet twisting around her ankles; this action brings her nose-to-chest with the bed's other resident. The nuzzling that follows seems pure instinct.

"Mm." Her voice is thick with drowsiness as she mumbles, pre-emptively, "Just ten more minutes."