Even as Thalora remained unmoving on her bed, she felt a sudden, violent twisting in her gut that set her immediately on edge. It was not a simple discomfort, but a deep, instinctive unease that made her restless in a way she could neither ignore nor suppress. Panic began to creep in, coiling tighter with every passing second.
She called out as loudly as she could, pleading for someone to come and help her from the bed. Her body was still far too weak to perform even the simplest task of standing or walking on her own. Each attempt to raise her voice sent a sharp ache through her throat; her vocal cords, still tender from prolonged disuse, protested against the sudden strain she forced upon them. Still, she did not stop.
Again and again, she called out, desperation lending strength to her weakening voice, hoping that someone beyond the door might hear her. But no one came.
