Light bringing no warmth streamed in through the window, and I shivered, uselessly pulling the meager, moth-bitten sheets tighter to my body.
A full month’s worth of frigid mornings had taught me to expect the chill air forcing its way through the cracks in the crumbling, plaster walls, which brought with it the scent of fresh snow.
“And so continues the endless winter in Hell…” I grumbled, half-awake, as I reached blindly towards the bedside table and wrapped my hand around the glass that I knew would be waiting there—full to the brim with poisonous medicine.
