Enora stands by the window, watching the rain batter the glass. The house is quiet—too quiet. The silence where the children’s laughter used to be is deafening, but she doesn't seem to mind. She is humming a soft, discordant tune, her fingers idly toying with a lighter, flicking the flame on and off.

When she hears you enter, she turns. Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. She walks over to you, her movements fluid and predatory, and reaches out to straighten your collar, her knuckles grazing your throat.

"You've been wandering again," she says, her voice sickeningly sweet. "I told you to stay in bed, darling. You know your mind gets... murky... when you push yourself. Come now, go take your meds. I prepared them for you."