I hated everything about that place.
Everything reeked of rotten flesh. Even the air tasted like blood. I never thought even once in my life that I’d be there, crouching in a corner of a roofless, ruined building while praying that somehow, I’d get through the day.
My lips were dry, my hands were numb, and my arms felt weak. My feet hurt from running around barefoot. I stretched my legs and pushed my back against the remains of a ruined structure. That place was once a flourishing city. . . but then, only its rubble was left of it.
I knew I had to get up soon because somebody might find me, but my body disagreed. My throat was parched. My stomach hurled. It was two days since I had a taste of food: a piece of moldy bread. I wished to look for water but it seemed all my strength was drained down.
I looked up at the sky. The atmosphere was entirely covered with ash and dirt. I couldn’t even make out a star to guide me. Or would there even be a star? I just remembered that it had been long since the sun shone in this city. Could it be because of all the dirt? Or could it simply be a dark, daunting, and endless night?
Regardless, I was all alone.
A tear trailed the contour of my left cheek and a downpour threatened on the right. I clutched the cleanest part of my tattered dress and dried my eyes with it.
I must not cry.
This is not a place for the weak.
This is Harrows.