After 551 years she woke to the earthy pungence. She shook her long, dark hair, stretched her limbs and tried to walk, following the scent. Her embroidered gown and simple headdress stood out, and the tall buildings and paved roads showed her how much had changed.
Her sister flew, her brother fought. She could sleep—through wars and pogroms—and keep her lineage strong.
At the café, as like the last time, she promised those who held her dear: “If I can accept this world I have woken to, I will drink this cup, if not, I shall rest our bones.”
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