NOMI
The first thing I realized was that I couldn't breathe.
Not because I was drowning, but because the air felt like it had been replaced with some sort of ice-cold syrup. Every breath was a struggle, thick and tasting foreign and unnatural. I tried to pull in a sharp breath, and my chest hitched, a pathetic, wet sound that made my skin crawl.
I opened my eyes, and for a second, I thought I'd died and gone to some high-end, goth-themed funeral home.
The ceiling was miles away, carved from stone so dark it sucked the light right out of the room. I lay there blinking, my vision swimming, trying to convince my lungs to cooperate. The air pressed down on me like a physical thing, heavy and cold, as if the room itself disapproved of my continued existence. Each breath burned on the way in
