Temp

Buried as you were within the elaborate network of chambers that make up Aziria's Paper Palace, you did not notice the seasons or the days pass. Was it a year, was it two? It matters little, for the last memory you have from before this time was a hundred, perhaps two, perhaps many more, years ago; the moment of your death. And that time in the Palace passed slowly, as if in a dream. You still hardly feel as if you have woken, in fact, until now.

Now you feel the thrill of the fight, your blood is rushing in expectation and finally, on this chill morning, you feel alive.