She leaned over the porcelain bowl, retching up what little contents she had in her stomach. It was Friday, and the last time she’d eaten anything had been days ago. Once she’d finished throwing up, Gemma leaned back against the tiles of the bathroom wall and tried to catch her breath. Her mind swirled, dizzy and aching from the watersong. Her skin felt too tight. Sweat clung to her flesh, drying sticky and making it feel as if she were shrink-wrapped. A shower seemed like the best solution. It wouldn’t completely erase the way she felt, but it might ease her sickness a bit. Outside, the sky was starting to lighten, and dim blue light spilled in through the bathroom window. Gemma decided to leave the light off, preferring the semidarkness. That would probably upset her migraine the least. When she turned on the faucet, she kept it cool, even though she still had the chills. The cold sweat left her shivering. But she thought a cold shower might clear her head. Standing under the spray, she found it hard not to sing.
