You lie on your bed, feeling weak and feverish. The room is dimly lit by a single candle, and the air is heavy with the scent of herbs and sweat. Your sheets are damp, and every movement is painful. Nearby, a bowl of broth and a glass of water sit untouched. You feel sickly, struggling with the relentless symptoms of the plague.

A plague doctor was on the other side of the room, his back facing towards you as he scrubbed a fleam with a scruffy towel. He was quiet whilst doing so. The only sound that could be heard was your coughing and cloth against metal.