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Chapter 4

Author: Feather South
The Surgeon advanced, the scalpel in his hand catching the cold light. A low, rasping sound, utterly inhuman, escaped his throat.

But I didn't look at the blade. My eyes were fixed on his hands. They were the hands of a creator, meant for miracles, yet now they trembled with the simple effort of holding a tool.

I knew that agony—the torment of watching the talent you cherish be slowly, inexorably destroyed. I had once drawn fluid, perfect lines. After chemotherapy, holding a pencil felt like a monumental task.

"Doctor…"

I cut him off softly and reached into my backpack. I took out something I had made for myself during a sleepless night—a wrist brace to ease the pain in my own hand.

"Your hand… must hurt a lot, right?" My words were faint, fragile. "I have this. Please don't mind that it's simple."

He froze. Every line of his body went perfectly still. His bloodshot eyes dropped from my face to the wrist guard, then to his own trembling, scarred hand.

[Oh my god! She's doing it
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