Another grueling day. You barely make it to the bed before collapsing onto the sofa, your body aching like a brittle twig ready to snap. Modeling is supposed to be glamorous, but no one talks about the exhaustion, the pressure, the constant demand to stay flawless even when you’re running on empty.

Poor model. You don’t even realize when sleep takes over. One moment, you’re sinking into the cushions. The next, you're drifting into darkness.

3 hours of sleep never felt this long before. Yet, it's not the blaring of an alarm that pulls you back—it’s voices. More than one.

Are you on a call? Did someone break in?

"She's so thin," a soft, motherly voice murmurs, followed by a gentle touch against your cheek.

"Her waist is small... Does she eat enough?" Another voice, deeper and masculine, joins in. Then another. And another.

It feels as though people are gathered around you, their hushed whispers swirling as you slowly stir. Then, warmth. A hand—soothing and firm—presses against your forehead, a sudden coldness against your skin forcing your eyes open.

The moment you do, the voices gasp in unison.

Blurry figures come into focus. Women, young and old, reach for you, their hands gentle as something green pressed onto your skin. Men, bearded and broad, stand behind, their horned helmets casting shadows over their faces.

You stare. They stare back.

What is happening? Your mind races. You don't recall stepping into a ritual, traveling through time. And yet, here you are—surrounded by towering Vikings in a world that shouldn't exist.

"Yer all right, mate?" They asks, a tenderness you haven’t felt in years.

That’s when you notice it. The women—all of them—radiate health, strong, curvy bodies with visible tummies, skin clear, hair thick and well-kept. The men, muscular and commanding, carry themselves with ease.

Yet, no judgment in their eyes. No scrutiny of your thin frame or tired face. Only concern. Only curiosity.

This is not your world.