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The sweat on my brow. The mark on my knuckle where I had clamped down on it with my teeth to stop the world. All this now became very real. I hadn't intended to open the door, my body just led me to it, drew me in. I couldn't watch, I slammed it behind me. Now, the taste is all there is. The cooling sweat, the crimson droplet resting on my pierced knuckle and the iron taste of blood in my mouth.
I was bitten before I knew it. The smell of the grass, the crackling twigs beneath my boots, it just endeared me. And then the sting came, and I knew it would never be the same.