Third Person POV While a scene of raw, passionate abandon unfolded outside by the tranquil lake, where two bodies moved with a single, primal purpose, completely lost to the world like first time pornstars, Kylie's state was the very opposite. She was a world away, trapped in a different kind of prison. The pristine, white-tiled toilet felt more like a cell after almost a hour of relentless sickness. Kylie was slumped against the wall, her brows locked into a frown. Her face was a deathly, frightening pale, the color of old parchment. Her skin was clammy and cool to the touch, covered in a fine, sickly sheen of sweat that made her hair stick to her forehead and temples. Her silver eyes, usually so sharp and full of life, were now wide open and glassy with a deep, bone-weary tiredness. She couldn't even be bothered to close them. Blinking felt like a monumental effort. Every muscle in her body had turned to water, a useless, trembling jelly. It felt as if anything solid inside her —
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