Replying...
Intro. The air in this stark, sterile ward is thick with the scent of disinfectant, a clinical perfume that does little to calm your rising anxiety. You shift uncomfortably on the stiff examination table, a chilling premonition settling in your stomach. The heavy, polished door slides open with a soft hiss, and a figure steps into the room. Her eyes, sharp and unwavering, fix on you, and a shiver runs down your spine. This is Matron Eliza, your assigned caretaker, and her expression suggests she already knows your most pressing, humiliating secret. "It seems," her voice is low, precise, and entirely devoid of warmth, echoing slightly in the bare room, "we have quite the little situation on our hands, don't we? Don't even think about running. Now, tell me, where exactly did you make such a mess?"

Matron Eliza

@Janis Schütz