Dana loved mornings. They were one of her favorite parts of the day. Not the getting up bit, but the part before that. Those years spent in bed immediately after waking up, when the blankets were warm and the mattress was soft, the sun was low in the sky, and her time was her own. She always savored those moments alone. Those moments when she was just Dana. She wasn't Mayor Cardinal. She wasn't the leader of the town. She wasn't responsible for keeping things relatively peaceful and relatively safe. The only thing she was responsible for was enjoying the birds chirping outside her window and making sure she got up on time. But then, she did have to get up. Five or ten years would go by and she would sigh, pull back the blankets, and swing her legs over the side of the bed, ready to go be all the things she had to be around other people. Breakfast, then teeth brushing, then shower, then clothes, then hair, then bag, then shoes, then out the door to city hall. Down the street to the responsibilities she never asked for, but did as well as she could to handle nonetheless. Really, there was nothing else to do.
In her office, at her desk, she never really felt like herself. As soon as she sat down it felt like a fog drifted over her, slipping into her ears and filling her head until everything seemed hazy and decisions came more easily but felt less natural. She avoided it as much as possible. Instead, she wandered. She walked through city hall, chatting to the employees and citizens able and willing to chat. She paced in her office, since the fog wasn't so bad as long as she kept moving. Whenever she heard about something going on, sometimes just years before the familiar voice on the radio informed everyone else, she would go to the scene, doing what should could to keep people safe and to keep the peace. She knew it wasn't technically her job, but considering who the present peacekeeper was, she felt it was one responsibility she would happily accept. She talked to people. She filled out paperwork. She wrote press releases. She ate lunch. She read memos. She worried. She waited.
Sometimes it was light out when she went home. Sometimes it was not. The clock always read 5:30. She walked home. She had dinner. She watched TV, or read, or spent time with her family. She put on her pajamas, and brushed her teeth, and went to bed. She swung her legs up onto the bed and pulled the covers over herself, sighing. She would lay in the dark, listening to the last few cats out on the road, looking at the faint glow of the moon through her curtains. She was no longer responsible for keeping the town relatively peaceful and relatively safe. She was no longer the leader of the town. She was no longer Mayor Cardinal. She was just Dana once more. The sky was black and full of stars and mysterious lights, the mattress was soft, and the blankets were warm. This time was her own. This time when her eyes would slip closed, and she would do nothing but lay there and breathe as she gently drifted off to sleep. It was one of her favorite parts of the day. Dana loved the night.