Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
INTERLUDE
✎✘✘✘✘✘■■■■■
-Aoi-
The room was awash in the muted glow of morning sun, streaks of sunlight filtering in through slatted blinds and scattering across the cracked, cream-colored walls. Aoi was sprawled on the narrow bed, her body sinking into the thin, lumpy mattress as if it were trying to swallow her whole. The quilt that covered her was a faded patchwork of dull greens and browns, bunched at her waist and doing little to ward off the chill that seeped into her bones. The only sound was the occasional rustle of leaves from outside and the low hum of distant conversation that filtered in through the open window.
Shoko sat perched on the edge of the chair beside the bed, one leg crossed over the other, her white coat hanging loosely over a graphic tee that read Trust Me, I'm Almost a Doctor. Her dark hair falling in a curtain around her face as she inspected the scar on Aoi's side. The scar was an angry line of puckered flesh, still pink and tender, that stretched from her ribcage down to her hip. Shoko's fingers, cool and clinical, pressed and pulled at the skin, testing its elasticity and texture, eyes narrowed in an almost predatory focus. Her touch wasn't gentle, and the sharp tug here and there made Aoi's muscles twitch involuntarily. The silver glint of Shoko's ear cuff caught the light as she worked, adding to her composed, almost regal air.
A smirk tugged at Shoko's lips as she hummed an offbeat, playful tune under her breath. It might have been comforting if it weren't for the detached, almost gleeful way she conducted her inspection, as if she were studying a rare specimen rather than checking on a friend.
Aoi grimaced as Shoko's fingers pressed a particularly tender spot. «Shoko... you know you look like a maniac, right?» Her voice was hoarse, tinged with a fatigue that had settled deep in her bones days ago.
The doctor's smirk widened, the slight upturn of her sharp features making her look even more sardonic. «Can't help it,» she replied, not even sparing Aoi a glance. Her voice was smooth, almost lazy, but carried an edge that made people think twice before crossing her. «Pure occupational hazard,» she said, tilting her head as if to examine her work from a new angle. «You should be grateful, though. My exams are coming up, and you're the most interesting case I've got.»
Aoi rolled her eyes but didn't bother to argue. She'd learned quickly that it was a losing battle. Shoko's impromptu "examinations" had been a near-daily routine since she'd woken up in this tiny room several days ago, the persistent ache in her body and the hazy memories of the cursed auction still lingering in the back of her mind. Whatever strange healing Shoko had used on her—some technique she'd half-heartedly explained in medical terms that had gone straight over Aoi's head—it had left her feeling completely drained.
Shoko's fingers continued to work, pushing up the hem of Aoi's oversized sweatshirt just a little higher and tugging down the waistband of her sweatpants with a casualness that might have seemed friendly if not for the clinical focus in her eyes.
