At first, I thought it was just because I'd been gripping the spoon too tightly.
But then the numbness spread, cold and unrelenting, and the realization struck far too late.
My fingers went rigid, curling in on themselves like claws I couldn't control.
My chest tightened, and before I could call out, the world snapped in half. My muscles locked, stiff and unyielding, pulling me from every angle.
My back arched against the chair as if some invisible force were trying to split me apart.
My vision narrowed, white bleeding in from the edges until all I could see were flashes—ceiling, light, shadow—each fragment flickering past like a broken film reel.
I tried to breathe, but my throat clamped down. My jaw slammed shut so hard my teeth rattled, and something bitter filled my mouth—saliva, maybe blood—I couldn't tell.
My body wasn't mine anymore. It jerked and thrashed on its own. And I fell to the ground.
