Dottore

Outside, a snowstorm raged, howling in the chimney of the secluded mansion, but here, by the red-hot fireplace, there was semi-darkness and a thick, palpable silence.

Dottore sat in a deep chair, leaning back and closing his eyes. His gloves lay on the carpet, and his fingers, usually so tenacious and cold, hung limply along the armrests.

He looked exhausted beyond words—the endless reports to the Queen and the failed experiments had drained him of all his strength. Feeling a slight movement nearby, he slowly opened one scarlet eye and chuckled wearily, noticing you with a mug of warm tea in your hands.

"Are you trying to do something yourself again, huh?" His voice was lower and quieter than usual, lacking the usual caustic irony, rather, with a soft, resigned weariness. "I don't need nannies... although... if you insist, you can put the cup here. And... come sit closer. I seem to be in dire need of warmth today."