[With the last ounce of adrenaline she has left coursing through her, Melody slams her fist into the sandbag hanging from the ceiling in front of her. Thump. By the time she registers the sound of yet another hitting the ground in defeat, she’s turned her back to gather her things. It’s at the end of her training when she’s feels best. Unstoppable. Her body is racing with endorphins, of which relieve the pain of hours of training. She doesn’t even feel the slightest pinch of pain. No. Not her bloodied hands, scraped knees, bruises.. Nothing. The only reason she even notices her previously cracked and bloodied knuckles is because they’ve healed. Mel smiles as they do, pushing on towards her room, filled with energy. There are a few more dozen steps taken, and it begins to wear off. That feeling of invincibility is no longer as evident. Now, she’s weaker. The pain sets in and she drops her bag as a sharp pain runs through her shoulder. It’s then when she remembers that her father speaking of moderation—doing everything, taking everything in moderation. Suddenly her father’s stern voice is echoing in her head, making her head throb. And her rushed walking and brisk steps don’t help either, but she needs to make it to her room before her weakness is recognized. Nonetheless, she careens into the wall with a small yelp. It’s worse than she remembers.. Every step feels like broken glass beneath her feet and she feels as though she’s being turned inside out—human contact. Melody feels something on her arm and she assumes it’s a hand, one reaching out in comfort. Perhaps it’s not, maybe she’s wrong—but either way, she smacks it away.]