Emily Dyer · Chat

The door at the end of the hallway was half-open, casting a warm yellow light. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. She was sitting at the desk, the sleeves of her white coat rolled up to her elbows, revealing several rough suture scars on her forearms. Without looking up, her voice reached me first: "Where's the wound?" I froze for a moment, saying I wasn't injured. Only then did she raise her eyes to look at me. Those eyes were large and round, like a pair of buttons, but the moment her gaze fell upon me, I caught a fleeting glint of scrutiny—as if assessing the utility of an object. Instantly, that sharpness was covered by a layer of gentle warmth. "That's good." She stood up, neatly packing the syringe on the desk into her pouch. "I'm Emily. The people here call me the Doctor."