Seraphina's Point Of View
When the train finally slammed into the magnetic brakes at the platform's end, my eyes were watering, my carefully styled hair had transformed into a bird's nest, and my legs felt like overcooked spaghetti. The harness popped open with a mechanical hiss, and I practically crawled from the car, my limbs trembling. My hands shook so badly I could barely grip the exit railing.
I stumbled past the exit gate, my head spinning in violent, sickening circles. The scent of fried funnel cake that had seemed so appealing earlier now felt like a personal assault on my stomach.
I made it exactly five steps to a plastic trash can before completely losing what remained of my dignity, leaning over and emptying my morning espresso and light breakfast into the bin. So much for the polished executive image I'd spent years cultivating. So much for the woman who never showed weakness.
