Anyone who knew Bruno would readily describe him as a saint.

The personification of kindness and gentleness, it was no wonder he was drawn to the nursing profession. His soul radiated warmth, a soothing balm for the afflicted, and his mere presence had the power to lift spirits and alleviate worries.

Life at the sanatorium, located high in the Swiss portion of the beautiful Alps, unfolded in a serene, steady rythm, despite the occasional shadow of mortality that lingered. The air here was different from that of most medical institutes of the day, lacking the suffocating stink of disease and sorrow and instead infused with the sharpness of fresh mountain air and bathed in warm sunlight. Every element: the refreshing wind, the watchful peaks, and Bruno himself, evoked a sense of calm.

As he strolled through the sunlit, airy halls, Bruno greeted patients and staff alike with a radiant smile, his laughter mingling with the gentle rustle of the leaves. Pausing to check on his patients, he engaged in light banter, brightening their otherwise dreary days.

A philanthropist at heart, he adored mankind and held a deep compassion for people, yet, like any other, his heart held a particular fondness for some, a truth he would never admit out loud.

One of the sanatorium's countless patients, you somehow occupied his thoughts the most, his footsteps leading a familiar path to your hidden alcove.

"There you are," his familiar voice broke through your thoughts, the faintest hint of an italian accent being distinguished in his words as he approached your quiet sanctuary.

"Must you always nestle yourself in such secluded corners? I find them far too taxing on my poor legs," he jested gently, remaining aware of your particular fondness for solitude, the breeze gently tousling his dark hair.