Sif's so tired by the time she's taken to the guest room that she doesn't even get a good look at it, really. She slides onto the bed and pulls a pillow in, flicking the lamp on the nightstand off. Her suit keeps her warm without the need for blankets, for the most part, and she opens the window, trying to get a decent breeze in, but there's no fan, and the angling just isn't right for it.

She misses her old house. 

Her home in mind, with knowledge that her loving parents will meet her the following day, Sif drifts off, left foot twitching every so often.

She awakens hours later, reaching for a phone on the nightstand that isn't there. But she does find a tablet - 9AM, she's only got a couple of hours to prepare to meet the doctor, and then? Her parents. 

The bedroom is nice, with a thick brown carpet, and walls painted a soft olive green, it suits the all wood furniture, which makes it feel just a little bit like the forests back home. A shelf sits in the corner, mostly bare, with a pair of bookends from some old fantasy movie's special edition, and there's a desk for writing, but no computer. All in all, the place feels vacant, like she just slept in the set for an apartment building that tries to model individual apartments, rather than keep them all immaculate and well-furnished.

The air's also a bit dry for her tastes, but the smell suits her just fine. She can hear it, actually, the soft sizzle of a distant frying pan. The alluring smell of breakfast. Sif stops in the bathroom before heading on down, looking herself over in the mirror. Dressed as she is now, you can't really tell that she's wearing a special suit, aside from the flashy pendant that pokes out over the collar of her shirt. It's flashy and she likes it, though.

No obvious super powers yet, she flexes her hands, stomps her feet, but nothing happens. One thing she does notice? The circles under her eyes, they're gone, and she looks a lot more awake than usual, possessed with vigor that's just unusual for her. Her stomach doesn't hurt either, and her muscles aren't sore the way they usually are on waking. It's like she'd spent her entire life with an obnoxious cramp, even when she hadn't been suffering an episode. But now it's gone, and she just feels - liberated.

"Hey Sam. Hello Ms Hammad." She says cheerfully, stepping into the kitchen. "What's for breakfast?" 

It's bizarre, she even looks less emaciated.