Nan’s POV
I must be dying.
It must be the only explanation for feeling this bad. I’ve been sick before. But never like this.
I know logically that the room is warm. My blankets are sticky and wet from sweat. There is no cold air blowing directly on me.
But I can’t stop my shivering. The muscles in my arms and legs tremble despite my efforts to stop it. It’s painful.
I try to burrow deeper into my blankets. Not able to stand the cold permeating my body. But it is not enough.
The wet, scratchy rag on my face feel pleasant for only a moment. But then the cool sensation fades as my temperature spikes. ‘Not a good sign, Nan,’ my mind whispers.
I might have been worried at my obvious fever if I had enough energy to speak. But even that is lost to me. I just want to sleep.
I can’t op
