Elara smiled, but didn’t reach for a shelf. "There is no 'best' pillow, Arthur. There is only the pillow that matches your soul—and your sleeping position." She led him to three pedestals.
In the quiet town of Somnus, Arthur was known as the "Walking Ghost." He had spent three years trapped in a cycle of neck cricks and 3:00 AM ceiling-staring. His current pillow, a lumpy rectangle he’d owned since college, had the structural integrity of a wet pancake.
He bought it, went home, and slept for twelve hours straight. He woke up not as a ghost, but as a man. He realized the "best" pillow wasn't the most expensive one—it was the one that finally let him forget it was there.