A ray of light passed under the door, a subterranean glimmer. The stagnant air was sour, fetid with human waste, but Tuyet no longer noticed the stench. She lay in filth, curled up on the wet stone floor by the overturned toilet bucket. Her clothes were now rags, encrusted with blood and salt. Her body was a cage of pain. On her legs and arms, open sores oozed pus. Her ribs broken, she drew shallow breaths, taking in the hot air in small gasps. Her face was discolored, misshapen with bruises, mouth open, lips blistered. Fever burned in her throat, raw from days of screaming.
