Soft golden lighting reflected off polished marble floors so flawless they looked unreal. A gentle instrumental melody drifted from hidden speakers—calming, but distant enough to keep emotions in check.
Even the air carried a faint citrus scent, carefully chosen to soothe anyone who walked in before they ever saw a doctor.
People moved quietly, well-dressed, speaking in low voices. Everything felt controlled, curated—as if discomfort had been engineered out of existence.
And then she walked in.
The girl didn’t belong in that world.
She looked about eight years old, maybe younger. Her dress, once light-colored, had faded into a dull gray. It hung loosely on her thin frame, wrinkled and worn. Her bare feet touched the cold marble, leaving faint dusty prints behind with every step.
She moved slowly, like each step cost her something.
When she reached the reception desk, she placed both hands on its spotless surface.
The contrast was immediate—small smudges of dirt where her fingers touched, a quiet reminder that she came from a world this building had never been meant to receive.
Her voice was soft. So soft it almost disappeared beneath the music.
“Please… I need a doctor.”