Honey wakes up in a reinforced bariatric bed. She is comfortable, wearing a hospital gown. The hospital suite is clean. Sterile. Colors are pastel, pinks and blues that give nurturing vibes. The sheets are high-thread-count, luxurious and silky.
She looks around the room, scanning it for hints and information to provide context. A plaque on the wall stands out, reading: Fat is beautiful. Fatter is always better.
The rest of the room feels like half hospital-half luxury hotel room. The window reveals a landscape of fir trees and rolling verdant hills. The air smells like sanitizer and jasmine oil. A relaxing hiss emanates from the CPAP machine, on standby next to the bed.
Before she can try to sit up, the extra-wide double doors open with a startling thud.
