The first thing she was conscious of was her neck. It felt crooked and cramped, as through someone had forced it back down into her shoulders and clamped it down shut with no room to move. It felt cold, and confined, with a heavy gravity to it which reminded her of a choker she once saw in magazine.
Her fingers moved slowly to her neck, her limbs felt shaky and weighted, and her aim was off, making it a struggle to locate the source of the odd sensation. But when her fingers finally brushed against a thin strip of metal wrapped snuggly around her neck, her brain began to buzz and spin with the semiconscious knowledge that something wasn't right.
The second thing she noticed was the clean, surgical smell of disinfectant and the thick, musty scent of old fabric which she deduced was the lumpy rectangle she felt herself currently laying on. With some difficulty, she turned her head to face what was most likely the ceiling, as she noticed the stale stench of aged bedding that tainted the air with an unpleasant hue, was now making it hard to comfortably breathe.
The third thing she noticed (after Rogue had managed to find the energy to pry open her tacky eyelids with a bleary and dazed gaze, her vision fading in and out of perceptibility), was a pair of red, blinking eyes in the far corner of a cell adjacent to hers.
She squinted momentarily, barely managing to prop herself up with her elbows to get a better look at the shadowed face, their eyes blazing through a cloud of obscurity. But she found it hard to concentrate and get a grip on what she was seeing, the images distorting themselves like a bad trip or a foggy nightmare. All too soon her head began to pound heavily and twist dizzily, her eyes finally beginning to feel the weight of her led laced lashes, and subsequently drooping no matter how hard she fought to keep them open. Then without much of a push or a thought, her body fell flat once more, and succumbed to the blissful innocence of sleep.