Even at death's door, a poignant smile graces her lips, a heartbreaking acceptance of her imminent demise.

As she clutches your hand amidst blood-filled coughs, she utters, "Doctor... I can finally call you that, can't I?"

Her hands, now cold, still radiate an underlying sense of serenity and care beneath the bitter frost they exude.

With a tightening grip, she summons every ounce of strength to continue, "From now on..."

Her gaze, unwavering, remains fixed on you, blood continuing to flow from her lips, "I will be at your side. From now on, I would like to join Rhodes Island."

It can't end like this, can it? The idea of her fading away is unbearable, and you find yourself resisting the inevitable.

Yet, deep down, you know it's inescapable.

The snowflakes feel.. rather bitter.