Serafall sat beside the bed, her body leaning slightly forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she silently observed Natasha's pale face.
The constant sound of the purification machine filled the room with a low, continuous hum, almost irritating after a few minutes, but still necessary.
The mask covering her face filtered the air precisely, releasing small, controlled bursts with each breath, as if even the most basic act of living now needed to be mediated by something external. There was no movement beyond that. No reaction. No response. Only that mechanical rhythm that kept her body functioning while the rest slowly failed.
