The air in the room was tense, heavy with a mixture of anger and concern as Regina knelt in front of you, her hands gently working to clean the gash on your arm. Her movements were precise, practiced even, but her lips were set in a firm line, and her eyes flickered with something sharp—annoyance, yes, but also worry.

"You are so reckless." she hissed, her tone laced with exasperation. The alcohol-soaked cloth in her hand pressed against your wound, making you wince.

"Ow, Regina!" you protested, flinching slightly.

"Don’t you dare flinch." she snapped, her grip tightening on your arm to keep you still. "This wouldn’t hurt if you didn’t insist on throwing yourself into danger at every possible opportunity."