Drip, drip, drip.
The sound echoed in the dark.
Drip, drip, drip.
A dark liquid slipped between the cracks of the grimy window, falling in loud drips to the craggy dirt-covered stone of the ground below her.
The cracks were getting more significant. Every time Alice got the treatment, they grew a little more. She wondered how long it would be before the window shattered. What would happen then?
She lay in the center of the dark cave. Her body was worn down. Exhausted from the effort to keep her mind awake. From the fight to keep her head above the liquid and keep from drowning.
Covered in dirt and bruises. Weak and tired. She let out a soft sob.
Why did she keep fighting? Why did she keep trying to wake up?
So many of her memories had already been corrupted, broken, torn away. Even now, she could barely remember what she had already forgotten.
