It’s a Boy

Sarah

Warm, golden sunlight beats down on my skin. I blink into it, squinting against the onslaught of differing colors and the sense that I’m somewhere totally and completely unfamiliar. I’m in a bed, that’s obvious. The sheets beneath me are soft as butter and smell like roses with a faint hint of pine. A delicate lace canopy hangs from the posters of the bed, drifting in a warm spring breeze. The light–golden with hues of magenta and violet–drifts over a domed ceiling and reflects rainbows on the intricate floral wallpaper hugging the room, which is….

I sit bolt upright and hug a thick, satin duvet to my chest. Where the fuck am I?

Several windows line the far wall, the view on the other side of the glass obstructed by multicolored stained glass. I turn my head slowly toward a strange object on the bedside table. It’s no bigger than my forearm, and a pale circle of light floats over its pointed tip. Slo