Nadia's Point Of View
I stepped up to the massive vanity mirror, and my breath caught in my throat. The reflection staring back at me was horrific. My skin had taken on a pasty, sickly shade of gray, while heavy, purple-black circles bruised the delicate skin beneath my eyes, hollowing out my features.
I looked like a corpse… or worse, like someone who'd already surrendered. My hair hung in tangled, wild knots from a week of restless tossing in those miserable silk sheets. Each strand seemed to tell the story of my deterioration.
"Look at you," I hissed at my reflection, my voice shaking with a sudden, vicious surge of self-disgust. The woman in the mirror seemed like a stranger… weak, broken, pathetic. "You look like a victim. You look like you've already lost." The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but they were true. This wasn't who I was. This wasn't who I could afford to be.
