Possessive need

Abby found herself standing in a dimly lit corridor, the air thick with a sterile, antiseptic scent that clung to her nostrils. She wore a thin, white gown that rustled with every hesitant step she took. The walls around her were cold, bare, and a stark, institutional gray. Fluorescent lights flickered intermittently, casting eerie shadows that danced along the corridor, making her heart race with each flicker.

"Hello?" Her voice echoed down the empty hallway, sounding small and fragile. There was no response, only the distant hum of machinery and the occasional distant scream that made her skin crawl.

Her confusion mounted as she wandered aimlessly. She had no memory of how she had arrived in this place. A sense of panic began to set in, gnawing at the edges of her sanity. She was not crazy; she was sure of it. But this place, with its oppressive atmosphere and the unmistakable aura of despair, was designed to make her doubt herself.