When I woke up from a melancholy dream, the slanting sun shone deep into the courtyard.

—Gutera's poetry

Shelley didn't know when she had come to sleep, her consciousness swirling in the small space, awakened by the rosy glow that filtered through her eyelids.

The first to recover was smell and hearing. The smell of burning dry wood penetrated his nostrils, and the fire crackled from time to time. Without the sensor, Shelley couldn't tell if the fireplace was oak or oak. She just grunted,

"40k: The Star of Colchith" Extra, the incense of the stove is turning (Shelley Center Daily) is being hit by hand, please wait a while,

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