KAMILA’S POV

Every breath hurts, like pins stabbing into my lungs, yet all I can do is breathe, gasping for air, holding onto a very thin string of life as the father's guard takes me back to my room, a bloody mess.

No one passing by offers me a second glance, seeing my state as a normal occurrence, something that won’t change or end, something to which they have grown numb.

I can barely recognize the silhouettes with my blurred vision and barely remain conscious with the pulsing pain ...