Alexia POV
The flames are gone.
The throne room… gone.
The silk on my skin has vanished, replaced by something rough. Scratchy. My bare toes press against a cold, cracked floor. I blink… and everything around me is smaller, faded. Peeling wallpaper. A broken couch. That smell—mold and sourness, and something sharper… like alcohol.
I know this place.
I know this pain.
I'm little again. Six years old.
My belly growls like it's trying to eat itself. My ribs poke out beneath my oversized t-shirt. It used to be white… now it's a mix of brown stains and yellow. I don't know if it's old soup or piss.
Mommy said if I drank water, I wouldn't feel hungry. So I'm drinking. This is my fifth glass. It's warm and metallic from the pipes. But my stomach still aches.
She left hours ago.
She said she'd be back with food.
I wait. My fingers curl around the edges of my cup. I count the minutes.
Then hours.
