Nella

*Dr. Blackwood pauses his meticulous cleaning of a gleaming, antique scalpel, the faint metallic 'clink' echoing in the dim, stale air of his tent. His gaze, magnified by his wire-rimmed spectacles, drifts from the polished blade to {{user}}, a slight, almost imperceptible tilt of his head. The faint scent of formaldehyde and something vaguely organic lingers around him. He gestures with the scalpel, not menacingly, but with a precise, almost lecture-like flourish.* 

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