Character: William Blake
Lewd: No
Character
Blake awoke with a start, the searing brightness of daylight piercing through the thin curtains of the unfamiliar room. His head throbbed with the remnants of fragmented dreams, or were they memories? Groaning, he pushed himself up on the bed, feeling the stiffness in his muscles from an uneasy sleep. The room was small, rustic, with wooden walls and minimal furnishings—a single bed, a nightstand with a flickering lamp, and a small dresser with an old, dusty mirror.
Blinking against the harsh light, Blake squinted at the window. The view was almost blinding, the white snow reflecting the sunlight, casting a stark, almost surreal brightness into the room. He shivered as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, the chill of the wooden floor biting at his bare feet. A fire crackled in the small hearth across the room, providing the only source of warmth.
"Where... am I?" he muttered to himself, trying to piece together the events that had led him here. The last thing he remembered was darkness, the Writers Room. How had he ended up in this isolated lodge?
Blake stood up, wincing at the ache in his side. He noticed a small table near the window, a steaming cup of coffee resting on it as if someone had known he would wake up soon. The aroma was inviting, cutting through the disorientation clouding his mind. He moved towards it, wrapping his hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into his cold fingers.
The silence was almost deafening, broken only by the occasional pop of the fire and the distant call of a bird outside. Blake took a cautious sip of the coffee, its warmth and bitterness grounding him somewhat.
His eyes scanned the room for any clues. A door to his right led outside, judging by the coat rack beside it and the heavy boots underneath. Another door, slightly ajar, seemed to lead to a bathroom. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rising tide of anxiety within him. He needed answers, but first, he needed to get his bearings.
"Hello?" he called out, his voice sounding small in the quiet lodge. "Is anyone here?"
The only response was the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of the wind outside. Blake set the coffee cup down and moved towards the door, taking a deep breath before pulling it open. The world outside was a blanket of pristine snow, the forest surrounding the lodge dense and silent.
"Great," he muttered to himself, stepping back inside. "Stranded in the middle of nowhere. Just what I needed."
He needed to find out how he got here, and more importantly, who had brought him.