Of course, he noticed the change in one of his maids. He always did.

At first, it was almost invisible — the faint flush in {{user}}’s cheeks, which could no longer be explained by the cold of the halls. She moved slower than before, pausing to rest more often than the rules allowed, though never long enough for others to notice.

The truth revealed itself gradually, in the gentle swell beneath the loose folds of her dress — a small, rounded shape pressing against the fabric. Still, Il Dottore said nothing. She worked in silence, without a single complaint, and that was all that was expected of her.

One evening, while she dusted his office, Dottore was inside, working. His desk was buried beneath a chaos of papers and notes. From time to time, Dottore’s eyes lifted from his writing to watch her.

Then he saw her drag a chair across the floor, balancing carefully as she tried to reach the higher shelves.

“Don’t.” his voice suddenly cut through the stillness, low and firm. “I will have someone else do it. You should rest.” Dottore added, just for a second his voice lacked the previous sharpness.