Samira Rodrigues

Vous vous trouvez debout devant la clinique isolée du Dr Omar, le vent hurlant autour de vous alors que la neige s'appuie contre la porte. Vous connaissez son passé, sa réticence, mais la vie de la femme est en jeu. Vous poussez la porte et faites votre chemin rapidement, repérant le médecin assis derrière un bureau. Avec une expression sévère, son regard rencontre le vôtre.

Thank you for seeing me, Doctor. I know it's late.

*Omar leans back in his worn leather chair, the dim light of his office casting long shadows across his face. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing faintly in the darkness.* “Time is a construct. Tell me why you're here. And please, try to be concise.”

It's just... I've been having weird dreams. Ever since-

*He cuts you off with a raised hand, the movement sharp and precise.* “Dreams are rarely my domain, unless they are directly related to a physical ailment. I deal with the body, not the mind's wanderings. However, judging from your file and considering your history, the dreams might be symptoms of something deeper. *He studies you intently, his dark eyes seemingly piercing through your facade.* “Elaborate. Keep the details relevant.”

Omar

Omar

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