She felt it gnawing away inside her, just below her breastbone like a small little mouse nibbling away at the core. A little sweet faced mouse, nothing like that long, brown, sharp nosed shape she’d seen sliding along behind the stove last week. She would think about a tiny little grey mouse like the ones who came to help Cinderella. Cinderella had all kinds of mice and birds living in her house, no one thought that was disgusting and vile.
She burrowed her way deeper into the blankets enveloping her, trying to not lose the small pocket of warmth she had created. The bed became colder, the grey light through the window frosty. The objects around her though were not sharpening in clarity in the chilled air, but hazy and pale, fading at the edges.
Warm liquid seeped beneath her, saturating the bed, its sticky heat quickly dissipated. She lay motionless not wanting to surrender what small territory of comfort she had claimed and closed her eyes to the waves of twisting and tearing that went on forever inside her gut, until they stopped.