Opal's POV
Something was wrong.
So wrong.
Opal gasped, but the air didn't come. Her lungs refused to obey her, her chest clenching tight like invisible hands were crushing her ribcage. The fire in her veins surged into a roaring panic, lighting her nerves on fire, burning through her bones like acid. Her hands shook uncontrollably.
She couldn't breathe.
She couldn't move.
She couldn't think.
Oh god—what's happening?
A scream built in her throat but wouldn't come out. Her fingers clawed at her arms, her throat, her face—desperate to peel away her own skin because it didn't feel like hers anymore. It felt like it was rotting from the inside. Like it was slipping off her bones.
"What's happening?!" she rasped, voice hoarse and wild. "What's wrong with me?!"
No one answered.
Or maybe they did—but their voices were distant, underwater, warped by the pounding in her skull.
The firelight twisted, smearing like blood across the night.
