The Widow Vk Here

The sickness took him in the winter. The doctor, a man who smelled of pipe tobacco and indifference, told Sally there was nothing to be done. Thomas died in the bed they shared, his steady hands finally still, his smile gone, leaving Sally with a silence that was louder than any scream.

They aren't healing them, she thought, the realization cold and absolute. They are breaking them. They are keeping them in pain. the widow vk

Sally stood in the center of the main hall. In her hands, she held her last possession of her old life: her husband's bone saw, a keepsake from his days as a laborer before he fell ill, something she had kept to remember him by. But in the darkness of Crotus Prenn, it looked like a weapon. The sickness took him in the winter

"Yes, Doctor," she whispered, and her voice sounded like a door closing. "It’s time." They aren't healing them, she thought, the realization

But the Fog—the Entity that watched from the shadows—saw her breaking. It tasted her grief, her anger, and her twisted sense of mercy. It began to whisper to her in the vents. It told her that the doctors were the true disease. It told her that the patients were suffering because the staff made them suffer.