Silvia
The cold hit me first, like a thousand needles piercing my skin.
I blinked my eyes open, disorientation washing over me in waves.
This wasn't my bedroom or a hospital room.
The ceiling above was bare concrete, spotted with dark patches of mold and water damage.
My mind felt foggy, like I was swimming through thick syrup trying to make sense of where I was.
A chill of dread settled in my stomach as I glanced down at my body.
I couldn't stop shaking. But what truly horrified me wasn't just being cold—it was my appearance.
My limbs were thin and frail, my legs bony, my hands like twigs.
I looked like a kid again—small, starved, and curled up like something the world forgot existed.
Hunger chewed through my insides like a wild animal that hadn’t been fed
