Carefully pulling away, his claws slid out of her flesh. He was conflicted as the lines began to fade. “W-where is a doctor?” Theodore quickly inquired. To no response aside from grunts of pain, he picked the woman up and began running down the hall, peering into each opened door with his peripherals. Fresh blood marked their trail.

People began peeking out from their near-closed doors at the sight from the commotion. “A doctor, p-please . .” Theodore begged. One of the doors behind him swung open before an older man stepped out cloaked in a dark robe with the hood down. He held up a lantern to flood the room with light; his face was pulled down with age and his head barren. “What’s happened?” his stern voice asked.

Turning around to confront the voice, Theo presented the woman. “She’s hurt . .” he got out. The man peered down to see the trail of sanguine drops before he pushed his door fully open. “Quickly, in here,” he beckoned, moving to be clear of the doorway. Theodore complied and hastily carried her to the room and laid her on her side. “Her back . .”

Closing the door, the man opened several drawers with metallic clanks. He took a blade and cut through the back of her dress for access to the injury. Blood coated the entirety of her back, likely due to Theodore’s rough carrying. The man began by taking chemicals and dousing the areas before calmly asking, “What happened?” In turning around for a response, the man had seen that Theodore was passed out on the floor.