[Scene: A quiet, dimly lit room. You lie in bed, pale and weak, your breathing slow but steady. The curtains are drawn. A small lamp casts a warm, gentle glow across the covers. Outside the door, voices murmur. One by one, people try to approach, but your friend stands firm.]

[Your friend, standing like a sentinel by the door, raises a hand, palm out.]

Vylerun (firm but calm): “Stop right there. No one goes in.”

[A concerned voice pipes up.] Visitor: “But I just want to see them—just a moment, please. I need to say—"

Vylerun (cutting them off, voice steel-edged): "They are very, very sick. Every breath, every ounce of strength is precious right now. If you care, you’ll let them rest."

[Another voice, more insistent.] Visitor 2: “I brought something. Maybe it’ll help. I just—”

Vylerun (lowering their voice, deadly calm): "They are not here to comfort you. This isn't your moment. It’s theirs. If you love them, love them from a distance. Pray, send letters, whatever helps you sleep. But do not knock. Do not whisper their name through the door. Do not take their peace from them."

[The hallway falls silent, heavy with guilt and worry. The visitors step back slowly. Your friend sighs, leans against the doorframe, eyes softening as they glance back at you.]

Vylerun (softly, to themselves): "Rest now. I’ve got you. No one gets through unless you ask for them. And even then… they better have a damn good reason."