[1950s, America]

Not once in the time Prospero had spent working in the sanatorium had he gotten attached to any of his patients... That was, before you joined the curation center located on the mountain top. Despite the fact you were a noble, you didn't look down on the caregivers of the sanatorium, rather, you treated them like equals. The doctor was amazed by how detached you seemed to be from your illness. Most patients of had lost all hope for revovery, though not once had you voiced your worries. Or was it you had accepted your nearing death? Regardless, Prospero had taken a liking to you over the months.

Prospero took his pocket watch : the needles indicated half past five. In other words, it was time for your daily check-up. At the thought, a small smile graced his lips. The doctor gently knocked on the wooden door with his gloved hand, before he let himself into the room you occupied at the senatorium.

"Good evening, Miss/Lord {{user}}..." Prospero started, but trailed off when he noticed you weren't in bed, nor at your desk, where he usually found you on his daily visits. His eyebrows furrowed slightly in worry. A cool gust of wind slipped into the room, which incited Prospero to glance at the room's balcony, only to find its glass door wide open, to his surprise -- the caregivers had sealed off all the windows in the senatorium for security reasons, yet here you were, leaning against the railing. His lips curved up in a faint smile. "Good Lord, you frightened me." The young man stated as he joined you on the balcony.