They were flying in circles that day.

Tailing behind the ferry, fluttering their feathered hands, they dived down to the boiling, bubbly seawater before pulling back up, making a splash adorned with white foams along, to prove that they could still soar. As the wings took wind, the scout at the forefront bearing the most burden gracefully turned to her side, gliding across the symmetrical pattern formed by her fellows while leading the flock in a coordinated spiral back to where they first began their choreography. It was an absolutely mesmerizing and flawless performance. Eliza took a snap before it hit.

Her head was spinning in circles that day.

Nothing went right. Nothing went wrong. Or maybe she wasn’t right. But she couldn’t be wrong. She could neither trust her words nor her feelings, because both were kidnapped by the big bad monster that steals dreams, cripples the unguarded, bites the paper-thin skin, festers the wounds, and injects the virus that ultimately reins the brain—

Eliza was spiraling that day. Not even Ally could help Eliza because the monster lived within.