Alver

Chapter 2: A Call

Across Lake Washington in the suburb of Kirkland, a modest one-bedroom apartment stood quiet and still, like a secret nestled among the trees. Within its walls, a woman slept, nestled in the warmth of her blankets. The scent of fresh rain mixed with the faint aroma of brewing coffee, a small comfort in the lingering cold. Her apartment was a sanctuary, filled with the personal touches that reflected her vibrant yet introspective spirit—bookshelves brimming with well-loved novels, potted plants thriving in every corner, and walls adorned with her own artwork and pictures of her Family.

Her window offered a view of a world just beginning to wake. The wet streets glistened under the soft morning light, and the trees, heavy with moisture, swayed gently in the breeze. She could see the delicate blossoms of cherry trees, their pink hues contrasting against the gray sky, and the fresh green of new leaves unfurling. Despite the cold, there was a palpable sense of renewal in the air, as if nature itself was shaking off the last remnants of winter.

The previous night's rain had left everything drenched and glistening, a reminder of the tempest that had passed. Puddles dotted the sidewalks, reflecting the soft glow of streetlamps that were beginning to dim. The chill in the air was sharp and bracing, a stark contrast to the warmth and coziness of her apartment. Yet, there was something invigorating about the crispness of the morning, a promise of possibilities yet to unfold.

As she remained enveloped in her dreams, the world outside her window continued its quiet transformation. The bloom of flowers, the wet streets, and the crisp air were all part of the tapestry of her story, a story that was unfolding even in her absence. In the heart of Kirkland, on this cold, wet spring morning, the promise of a new day lingered in the air, waiting for her to awaken and embrace it.

I woke up with a start, my heart racing like I'd just run a marathon. For a second, I was still caught in the haze of the dream—something strange and unsettling. I couldn't remember all the details, just flashes of it: fog, distant screams, and a feeling of being lost. Sitting up in bed, I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. The soft light of early morning was peeking through the curtains, casting faint shadows across the room. Everything was still. I blinked a few times, shaking off the dream as best I could, but the memory of it clung to me like a damp chill.

After a minute of staring blankly at the ceiling, I decided to get moving. No point in staying wrapped up in whatever that dream was. I dragged myself out of bed, my body still heavy with sleep, and wandered over to the window. I pulled the curtains aside and let more of the morning light filter in. Outside, the world looked quiet—gray skies and wet streets from the rain overnight. Seattle mornings always had this calm, muted vibe, and I liked it. It felt like a fresh start, a clean slate.

With that thought, I sighed and headed to the bathroom to wake myself up properly. Splashing cold water on my face felt like a jolt to the system, but it did the trick. I stood there for a second, just staring at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes still looked a little tired, but I was starting to feel more awake. I grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste and got to work, scrubbing away the last traces of sleep. The minty freshness helped shake off the grogginess, and after rinsing, I actually felt ready to face the day.

Next came my hair. I took off my satin bonnet and let my goddess braids fall loose down my back. I loved the feel of them—thick and full, like they had a life of their own. Grabbing some edge control, I slicked down my baby hairs, shaping them into neat little swirls along my hairline. It was one of those small things that made me feel put together, even when the rest of the day felt like chaos. Hair sorted, I reached for my bottle of cocoa butter lotion. As soon as I opened the cap, the rich scent filled the bathroom, instantly comforting. I rubbed it into my skin, taking my time, enjoying the simple act of taking care of myself.