The door opened with a slow creak, and a head poked through, followed by a neck. "How's it going?"
"I feel like I'm dying," said Apple Bloom. "Mentally and physically. My head is spinning, my bones hurt, my insides feel like they were twisted around the wrong way, I can't focus on anything, I'm cold, I'm sweating, and my mane feels horrible." She weakly lifted her head from the pillow. "So better than yesterday, and at least I'm not vomiting."
"Want me to call you for dinner or should I bring you food here?"
The filly's head fell back to the pillow. "Call me. I'll yell if I don't feel like coming, but I'm still good enough to walk. I have to be anyway."
"Alright. Need more water?"
Apple Bloom looked to the side, to the bottle on the floor next to her bed. "No. I think I still have enough."
"Alright. Just remember to stay hydrated."
"I will."
"See you at dinner. Try to get some rest if you can." Neck and head drew back, and the door closed again.