ARIA
Time stopped behaving like time once fear settled in.
Some minutes stretched until they felt grotesque, bloated things. Each second dragged its body across the floor while I sat there bound, breath shallow, mind running through a catalog of endings I did not want to imagine.
Then whole stretches vanished. I would blink and realize I had no idea how long I had been staring at the same stain on the concrete. Ten minutes. An hour. My sense of sequence slipped loose, untethered.
I tried to steady myself.
In through my nose. Out through my mouth.
Count. Hold. Release.
The routine felt flimsy now, a fragile structure built for a life that no longer existed. Back when anxiety meant exams and waiting rooms and watching my mother sleep through another afternoon. Back when fear stayed within reasonable borders.
I clung to Kael instead.
