Misery
Miserable is what I am and how I feel, as I greet Atlanta upon her waking up in the morning.
I managed to help my body flush out the unwanted substances, by drinking a lot of water from my own stores, as well as a large flaskful of bluish silvery liquid that Head Healer Eir claimed as “special milk” but never elaborated about. The flushing was even more unpleasant than the ache, however, with how things seemed to be wrenched and scrubbed painfully from my insides, only to be propelled out noisily and malodorously, all throughout the night.
Needless to say, I had no chance to rest and perhaps even enjoy the cocoon.
The taste of Head Healer Eir’s “special milk” was a greater allusion to the nightmare than the “cow milk” that was present in Atlanta’s kitchen, to boot.
I really, really, really did not relish experiencing a waking nightmare while my belly was wringing and scrubbing itself violently, noisily and malodorously out of all wastes and contaminants.
Somehow, thoughts and imaginings of the mysterious person named “Nalla” refused to depart my mind, too, during all that.
Worse, Atlanta pesters me right away about why I look so miserable.