The house creaked and groaned in the late afternoon breeze, its weathered walls standing strong against the encroaching twilight. Inside, a heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft chirps of birds outside.
Dr. Martina emerged from Rose's room, closing the door quietly behind her. She paused for a moment, her shoulders sagging with the weight of concern. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her posture and made her way downstairs to the kitchen, where Nana and Gunther were waiting anxiously.
As she entered, Nana looked up from the pot of soup she was stirring, her face etched with worry. "How is she, Doctor?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dr. Martina sank into a chair at the kitchen table, running a hand through her graying hair. "Not good, I'm afraid," she said softly. "The mark's spreading fast, and she's slowly loosing herself."
