Villain Ch 1892. Not Visiting Hours
The nurses came first. Their bodies moved like dolls out of sync with their strings. Heads tilted too far, necks snapping back into place every few steps. Their uniforms were pristine—snow-white with a thin red cross—but their skin underneath was pale and bloated, like they'd been soaked in formaldehyde too long. One dragged an IV stand behind her, the bags still dripping. The other pushed a wheelchair with no one in it. Her fingers were broken backward but still gripped the handles.
Then came the doctor.
He looked… intact. At first.
Tall. Lean. His coat was buttoned neatly to the neck, glasses perched perfectly. Clipboard in one hand. The kind of guy you'd trust with bad news.
But his mouth was stitched shut with black thread. Tight. Like someone didn't want him to talk.
So instead—he smiled.
A long, slow, too-wide smile that curved beneath the stitches.
He raised a hand and tapped his clipboard once, sharply.
