(SASHA)
My dreams last night were disconcerting—not violent or fearful, but each time I woke I felt like I should have done something differently in the dream to procure a better outcome.
Morning crept past the curtains, and when I gave up on sleep, I checked the view of St. Peter's Square, or as much as I could see from the window.
Now that Tyler is wide awake, I can't stop him from his breakfast mission: out on the terrace garden, which, according to the information pamphlet the clerk gave us, is the reason people come to this hotel. I can see why when we step out onto it. It's high enough to see over the colonnades of the piazza next door, and the Palace is directly, though distantly, opposite.
We aren't alone on the terrace, despite the early hour. Indeed, the streets below are already busy, and I can see people already lining up in St. Peter's Square.
