The water was a living thing. It was cold, black, and violent.
I tumbled through the darkness, the roar of the current deafening in my ears. I didn't know which way was up. I just knew I was spinning, slamming against rough stone, swallowing mouthfuls of vile, freezing water.
Swim, my brain commanded. Swim, Chef!
I kicked. My limbs felt heavy, weighed down by my sodden dress and the freezing temperature. I saw a faint, murky light above—the exit? The moon?
I clawed toward it. My lungs burned. My chest felt like it was being crushed by a giant fist.
Almost there. Just... one more... stroke.
I reached up, my fingers brushing the surface tension.
And then, something snagged my ankle.
It wasn't a hand. It felt slimy, tangled, and heavy. Old fishing nets? A cluster of sewer vines? It didn't matter. It was an anchor.
No.
I kicked frantically, but the tangle tightened. The current surged, grabbing me and yanking me down.
The light above drifted away. The surface retreated.
