As his eyes opened, Light saw a high vaulted ceiling adorned with hanging glass chandeliers, their expensive crystals catching the morning light in soft, fractured glimmers.
He shifted slowly, pushing himself upright against the headboard before swinging his legs over the edge. His feet hovered there a moment as he checked — yes, the pristine cloth was still positioned beneath the bed where he'd placed it. Only then did he let his toes touch down.
He hated dirt. Especially beneath his feet. Because then he'd have to clean it, but he also hated wetting his legs, and he couldn't exactly sweep dirt off with his hands. Even with the cloth barrier, even knowing it was clean, something about the contact still made his skin crawl.
Regardless of where his duties took him, these routines never broke. The nuns at this particular branch had been accommodating — they paid extra attention to his requests, kept his quarter immaculate. Small mercies.
