A little surprised, as if the arrival of Gomme and Mr. Roselet was rather unexpected, the woman who was the doctor of the clinic they had visited gave them a curious look as Mr. Roselet finished recounting the events of the previous day.
"So, you know everything, Doctor Nazrisse."
The doctor picked up a pen and said in astonishment while jotting down her thoughts on a sheet of paper:
"You didn't listen to my diagnosis last month, damn Nicholas? How many times do we have to repeat it? Listen before rushing off and causing some stupid drama, pff."
The doctor's rather familiar way of speaking to Mr. Roselet caught Gomme off guard, but she didn't utter a word.
"Huh, it was pretty clear, wasn't it? It's the serum my family injected me with that caused this, right?"
The doctor's eyes suddenly filled with sadness; she seemed unable to find the words to respond to Mr. Roselet's claims.
"A serum? What are you talking about, sir?" asked Gomme.
"Well…" replied Mr. Roselet before being cut off by the doctor.
"Let's be clear, Nicholas: what's happening to you has absolutely nothing to do with the experimental serum they injected you with to study its effects on your sister when you were little."
Mr. Roselet clenched his fist. He didn't dare look at the doctor, but his trembling voice and offended demeanor were unmistakable.
"You say that when you weren't even… you weren't there, Doctor Nazrisse. You didn't feel her breath fade inside you…" he said sorrowfully.
A few hours later, the doctor sat pensively in her chair.
Will he ever be able to forget? Or should I have intervened that day? thought Doctor Nazrisse as she listened to a melody that resembled a distant tune, bringing back all the buried memories within her.
Earlier, unsure how to comfort Mr. Roselet in his torment, she had invited him to rest on the small dispensary bed and pulled Gomme aside, curious about the relationship she had with her long-time client.
Gomme, sitting on a chair across from Dr. Nazrisse's desk, watched as the doctor reached for her pen and asked:
"You take notes often," she said with curious eyes.
"Don't pay it too much mind. It's a habit I must keep if I don't want to forget anything, my dear."
The doctor took out a sheet of paper while talking to Gomme.
"A servant from the Stein lineage or school… I never thought one of you would grow attached to a writer as filthy and arrogant as Nicolas."
Gomme felt a prickling surge of anger. She wanted to retort, but it was as if she couldn't find the right words—or as if a thought deep inside urged her to let it go. The doctor's words didn't feel insulting or provoking, but rather laced with a disquieting worry that unsettled the doll, even though they rang undeniably like an insult.
"It's true that my master is a bit absent-minded. He even forgets things sometimes and gets upset over nothing. But I, too, have my own answer to find, and deep down, something tells me it's him—that he's the one who will bring it to me."
The doctor was taken aback by Gomme's words.
I never imagined a Stein doll could respond in such a human way, she thought, her expression softening with satisfaction.
"You've convinced me, my dear doll. Here's everything you must do to ensure little accidents like yesterday's don't happen again," the doctor said, handing Gomme a sheet filled with notes.
"What is this?" asked Gomme.
"A prescription with some precautions and medications to take. That way, yesterday's little mistake—or any others—won't repeat itself."
Lost in thought, the doctor stood up, took a cup, and drank some coffee. In her distant memories, she recalled a timid young boy who always accompanied his sister to the hospital, along with a fair-haired girl.
"Now that I think about it… that little servant Gomme might be the grown-up version of that girl who used to follow Nicholas around," the doctor murmured, losing herself in the black depths of her coffee.
"But what does the world have in store for you, Nicholas?" she wondered.