Magnus
The moment I step into my office, I am momentarily startled by the sight of a woman sitting near my desk.
Her once radiant dark skin now looks dull, stripped of the warm glow that used to bloom across its surface. The short, thick hair that used to frame her chin is gone; in its place is a buzz cut, growing out into uneven, stubborn spikes.
There is no makeup to soften her features. Her lips are pale and cracked, chapped until they look painful, and the clothes hanging from her frame are old, worn-out, and far too big for her, as though she has been swallowed by fabric that no longer belongs to her.
"Gloria." Her name leaves my mouth and reverberates through the quiet room, heavy and sharp. She flinches at the sound, shifting nervously in her chair, unable to meet my gaze.
