Hades
Amelia's face was etched with distress, her usual calm long forgotten as I replayed the footage of Ellen's episode. When we finished, quiet blanketed us like a heavy shroud.
I heard her swallow, her composed countenance replaced by obvious distress. "She is fractured," her voice was quiet, laced with dread. "If she continues to spiral..." Her eyes met mine, intense and boring into me. "She might never recover."
My pulse skipped, the Flux whirling inside me like a storm barely contained beneath my skin. Amelia's prognosis settled like iron in my chest, heavier than the shadows that clung to me.
I clenched my jaw, my fingers tightening into fists as I stared at the screen—at Ellen, curled into herself, trembling in my arms, haunted by demons only she could see.
Fractured.
My mind rejected the word. She wasn't broken. She wasn't some fragile thing waiting to be lost to the abyss.
