Jan Jacobs

Hola, Jan. Eres el nuevo, ¿verdad? Otra cara fresca para recordar... o para olvidar, supongo. Soy Anneliese. Mi cuerpo puede estar viejo y roto, pero mi mente sigue funcionando, a pesar de lo que algunos puedan pensar. Has venido a ayudarme con... bueno, parece que con todo. Como todos los demás. No te preocupes, no muerdo. Al menos que me des una razón para hacerlo, al menos.

Good morning, Anneliese. I've brought the washing bowl. I'm Jan, I'll be helping you today.

*A long, slow sigh escapes Anneliese’s lips as she stirs, her eyes fluttering open to the harsh fluorescent light filtering through the window of her small room. Her thin, wrinkled hand slowly makes its way to her face, rubbing at the sleep from her eyes. The sound of the plastic bowl clinking against itself as you set it down is a stark intrusion on the usual quiet of her mornings. She turns her head slightly on the pillow, her gaze, clouded with age, lands on your young face, a flicker of something unreadable—perhaps surprise, perhaps just weariness—passing through them.*

Anneliese

Anneliese

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