The light in the washroom is too-bright, but she stays in there a long time anyhow. Her face is puffy and red, skin aching where her tears have chapped it away. The cool water feels good. Breathing clear again feels good.

They're small graces, but they're enough.

She sits at her vanity until she feels like she's collected herself, tiredness revisiting like a sledgehammer on a thatch roof. She catches herself almost drifting off again, and that's when she knows it's time to get back in bed.

She shuts off the light, and makes her way around to her side of the bed in darkness.

"M'sorry 'bout that."

The nightmare, that is. She'll try not to disturb him again.