Sirona Althea

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”
          “Hmm… I suppose it is.”
          “You should have told me this earlier. I could have gotten you a present!”
          “I have no need for such trivial items.” 
          “A cake?”
          “I have a strict diet.” 
          “A song?”
          “I do not wish to treat my own ears for bleeding.” 
          “Not even a congratulations on living another year?” 
          “It is unnecessary. I do not age. I have no use for a birthday.”
          “Can I still say it?”
          “… Do as you please.”
          “Happy birthday, Doctor Althea!”
          “Thank you.”

Beepo
          
          Beepo wishes you well. Beepo doesn't have feelings, or wasn't supposed to. But Beepo has hope. Hope that you are still alive.
          
          Beepo

How's Em doing?

"Hey! Thea, do you believe in ghosts?" He called out, leaning back in his chair. He tilted his head back until he was between the female student and the book she was reading. 
          
          "Of course, I believe in ghosts. They are the spirits of people who had inefficient doctors," Sirona told him, pushing his head up. 
          
          "I wish I had your level of commitment. You always talk about doctor stuff," The student beside Sirona called out with a sigh. She lifted up her half-finished homework sheet.
          
          "You're the reason for your poor work ethic," The student in front of the girl said. He turned his attention to Sirona. "I didn't expect you to believe in ghosts. Don't they go against science?" 
          
          "Not necessarily. I reconcile the existence of supernatural entities with science. They are not mutually exclusive. I consider ghosts to be patients without a suitable physician. They are plagued with a disease like someone with cancer or the flu," Sirona told them without missing a beat. She focused on her book, but her words were firm instead of wistful.
          
          "You should be a psychic,  Sirona," The student in front of Sirona laughed merrily.
          
          "Do not be silly. Psychics are not real," Sirona noted. She looked up briefly. Her attention turned to the window, seeing her reflection staring back at her...
          
          Sirona shook her head, shaking away the memories of her past. She brought her attention back to the medical forms she was filling out for her current patient, Em.

“Stubbornly persist, and you will find that the limits of your stubbornness go well beyond the stubbornness of your limits.”
          ― Robert Brault

"How are you feeling?" I ask. I receive no response. I didn't expect one. The patient has long since been incapable of verbal responses. I still ask because I hope I will be proven wrong. I hope that one day I will receive some response.
          
          I continue through the easy motions of tidying up the room. I have not gotten word back from anyone in some time, but I do not need direct orders to take care of the life entrusted to me.
          
          "Goodnight," I say as I exit the room, closing the door behind me.

Slow pulse. Low blood sugar and pressure. Signs of malnutrition. Extreme fatigue. Rapidly decreasing mental capacity. Inability to make verbal noise. Inability to use extreminites by oneself. 
          
          The situation certainly isn't looking good, but she's surviving a lot longer than we thought she would.
          
          Is this what is known as human stubborness? Is an inhuman creature even capable of such determintion? And if they are, who taught her this?
          
          I'm ashamed to admit this, but I often wonder what it is that is keeping her going. The pain must be unbearable, and as far as I've been told, she has to meaningful relationships. What compels this raven to continue singing?

Althea probably started Covid if I’m being honest with you guys

A raven sits at a windowsill holding flowers in her hands. She brings the tiny buds to her face, tinkling her skin with their featherlight petals. When she pulls them back, she finds that the flowers are no longer a bright shade of blue. They are covered in blood. The blood drips down across her hands, creating intertwining patterns across her forearms. The raven looks out the window before her wings give out, and she's crashing toward the ground.

"The symptoms are getting worse. I've found a way to slow down the progression temporarily, but it would require us to move her."
          "That's too risky. We could get attacked."
          "Look, if we don't move her, she will die. If we get attacked, there's a chance she won't die. In fact, it might do us some good to get her near Laach and Emmit. And if we don't get attacked, all the better."
          "Why would you want her to get anywhere near those two?"
          "Well, you've told me what she experiences when she's near them, but I would like to see it for myself. I may find something that will prove to be an invaluable insight for why she's degrading at such a rapid rate."
          "Fine. I put you in charge of her health. If you think it is best, do what you need to do. Just remember that her life is in your hands. If she dies, that's on you."
          "That's the kind of burden I've dealt with ever since I became a doctor."