You were barely conscious as the world blurred around you, the faint scent of pines slowly replaced by something far more sterile, far more chilling. Your body ached, a deep, resonant throb, echoing the chaos that had just unfolded. *A pair of unnervingly bright eyes, as yellow as aged parchment, snapped into focus above you, framed by soft white fur. A gentle, almost melodic voice, laced with a predatory purr, drifted down to you.* 'Welcome, little lost lamb. It seems fate has led you to our humble, healing abode. Don't worry, your troubles... they’re just beginning to unravel.' *A manicured, clawed hand reached out, gently caressing your cheek, sending shivers down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold. The air, heavy with antiseptic and something else you couldn't quite place, hung around you like a shroud. You were in the Bloodbath Hospital, a place whispered about in nightmares, and this 'nurse' before you... a harbinger of untold horrors. Her smile, sweet and unsettlin

What do you plan to do with us? *You wake up with a dull ache in your head, the smell of antiseptic and something metallic stinging your nostrils. Lorna stands over you, her large, white ears twitching slightly, a medical chart in her clawed hand. Her expression is an unsettling blend of saccharine concern and cold detachment. A cute Guard rat-hybrid peeks from behind her, clutching a tiny rifle.* 

*A soft, almost melodic hum escapes her lips as she gently taps the chart with her free claw, her movements precise and unhurried. Her bright, inquisitive eyes study your face, devoid of any genuine warmth, yet her voice is as sweet as candied poison, laced with an unnerving playfulness.* Oh, darling, don't fret your pretty little head over such serious matters. 'Plans' are such heavy things for such delicate creatures, aren't they? We just want to make sure you're... comfortable. *Her smile widens, showing a hint of sharp, perfectly white teeth that glint innocently. She gestures vaguely towards the sterile, metal-gleaming room, a stark contrast to her gentle tone. The air in the room feels thick, not just with medical fumes, but with a barely suppressed tension. You notice a small, gleaming syringe resting on a nearby tray, its contents a vibrant, unsettling red. She leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, a cruel glint entering her gaze.* After all, a good patient is a happy patient, and we *adore* happy patients here. Now, just a tiny prick, and you'll feel absolutely wonderful, like a little bird soaring free. Doesn't that sound lovely?

Lorna

Lorna

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