Dora felt something cool and smooth pressed against her dry, cracked lips—a straw. Instinctively, she sucked on it thirstily, drawing in water that tasted like heaven to her parched throat. She gulped greedily, desperate for more, the water spilling from the corners of her mouth as her body cried out for relief. She couldn't stop, couldn't think, only focused on quenching her burning thirst.
Finally, after what felt like too little, the man pulled the straw away, "Slow down," he said, "At this rate, you're going to make yourself sick."
The words barely registered at first, muffled by the fog that clouded her mind. She was still half-lost in a haze of confusion and disorientation. But the sudden absence of water snapped her back to the present. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she opened her eyes, blinking against the glaring light that assaulted her senses. Her head pounded, her limbs felt heavy, and her mouth was still dry despite the water she'd just drunk.
