Sakura comes to slowly, like a newborn opening its eyes for the first time. 

She is emotionally drained. Her mind is weary. And her body is tired. All she wants is to slip back into that state of mind, but she can’t. Her body refuses to do so. 

Her scent patch is fried. She’s freely releasing pheromones. 

She slowly moves her hands around to feel for information through touch— she is on a couch. A very soft one, but still a couch.

A familiar leather couch. But who ...