πβ’ With air so heavy, stuffing her lungs with a barren and dry feeling as she took in every breath with a rattling sound.
She staggered with every step she took, her knees begging to give out and buckle beneath her, so her featherweight could collapse into a heap on the ground of the porcelain tiles.
Her back was warm. Wet, even, with a hot and thick matter, her clothes clinging to her like a vice, glued to her feverish and sweat covered skin as she hobbled down a hallway.
βWill we ever get outta here, Ash?β Taylor asked her, the weaver in her voice prominent.
Ashlyn stared blankly at the ground. βI donβt know, Taylor.β
She blinked at the memory.
And as much as she wanted to. As much as she wanted to encourage herself and her friends. In the very least, she didnβt think she was getting out of here.