Another low cramp had me grunting and slumping against the storefront I was passing. My hand met the brick, holding me up while I rode out the wave of agony that felt like my ovaries were dying a slow, torturous death. Sweat dotted my forehead and I gnashed my teeth together before pressing my lips into a thin line to hold back the whimper that wanted to break free. How much medicine did that asshat inject me with? I couldn’t imagine these symptoms were a normal reaction to a regular dose of Anoravel. Worse, I wouldn’t put it past he-who-shall-not-be-named to be reckless with the dosage. As
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