As he opened the door to the room, Benjamin heard the light breathing of the woman from her bed. He tiptoed over to her and watched as her chest rose and fell with each breath. She looked so peaceful as though no affliction even existed. What could she be dreaming of to be at such ease?

He went back across the room, preparing a fire in the hearth. The sounds of flint against steel must have stirred the woman since she shed the blanket and sat up.

"My lady, will you sit by the fire? I have prepared it just for you," He withdrew his instruments and began to grind minerals in his mortar.

"Please, call me Emilia." She moved to the hearth with her blanket wrapped around her slender shoulders.

He paused, looking up at her. "Excuse me?"

"I do not believe I told you my name. 'Tis Emilia." She sat down, returning his stare. "What is yours?"

He pretended not to hear her, continuing to crush the minerals in the mortar.

Emilia sighed, turning her gaze back to the fire in front of her. Neither of them spoke, letting an awkward silence form between them. The only sounds echoing through the room were the crackling of the fire and the grinding of the pestle.

"Here. Eat this." He tipped the mortar over a wooden bowl before handing it to her.

She did not take it, frowning up at him instead. "What... is it?"

"Minerals. They will help you," He answered, pushing the bowl into her hand until she had no choice but to accept it.

Emilia brought the bowl to her mouth and with great reluctance, emptied its contents onto her tongue. She cringed at the taste, giving the bowl back to the man.

"'Tis bitter." She shuddered.

"Yes, I never said it would not be," He took the bowl from her hands and set it aside.

Emilia chuckled. "That is true."

Benjamin regarded her strangely, unsure why she had laughed. He did not see the humor in his blunt statement. But he decided not to ask, starting to prepare his next treatment instead.

"What are you doing?" she asked as he pulled out a lancet from his bag. "What is that?"

"This is a fixed blade used for bloodletting," he explained, noting her straightened posture and widened eyes.

"Bloodletting?" She gasped, shrinking back into the chair.

"Yes," he sighed impatiently, grateful she could not see him rolling his eyes. "This is part of the treatment-"

"No. I refuse." She rose to her feet defiantly.

"Bloodletting is a simple procedure where a–"

"I know what 'tis," Emilia stopped him. "As I said, I refuse."

"Lady Emilia, this will drain you of hot blood. If you are frightened, I can give you this opium-honey concoction for the pain." He tried calming her, presenting her a vial filled with the medicine.

She hesitated for a few seconds, scowling at him before sitting back down. "Alright." Emilia took the vial from him, gulping down the painkiller. "How much will you drain?"

"Until you feel like swooning."

She sank back in her chair; a weary look coming over her. "Oh."

Benjamin inched closer to her, reaching for her hand. For a brief moment, he did not see a plague victim covered in the black blotches of death. But a frightened young woman, shivering before him.

For a moment, his own fear and disgust melted into sympathy. But as soon as his glove grazed her skin, he wrapped his hand around her wrist and raised her arm. "You will be fine."

Emilia averted her gaze from him, staring into the flames next to her. Taking this as her answer to go ahead, Benjamin nicked her vein with the blade. She winced, gritting her teeth as the blood flowed into the cup the man was holding. He watched as the dark liquid stained the ceramic. Yet, his eyes drifted to the woman beside him. She was biting her lip as if to keep from screaming. Her fists were both clenched; her knuckles turning pale.

"What–What is your favorite flower?" The words fell from his mouth and he instantly wished he could call them back.

Emilie turned to him; her eyebrows lifted and her mouth slightly parted. "Why do you ask?"

"I thought maybe talking would help distract you from–from this." He cleared his throat. "That was the first question that came to mind. I apologize, my lady."

She shook her head, a light smile playing on her lip. "Do not apologize. Talking about things would indeed help."

"'Tis interesting you should ask what my favorite flower is since I will have to decide about that soon," She continued. "But 'tis the iris, especially the purple ones."

Benjamin held the filling cup steady, afraid to look at her and lose his control over it. "Why must you decide soon?"

"I am getting married at the end of the season, and I must choose which flowers to be in my bouquet."

The man finally glanced up, only to find her staring back into the hearth. "To whom, my lady?"

"To Thomas St. Clair," she sighed, having to hold herself firmly against the chair.

"Are you feeling well, my lady?" He noticed her voice had dropped to a murmur.

"Yes, just a little faint. Will it be much longer?"

"No." He set aside the bowl, pressing a cloth against her wound. "I am finished."

Benjamin searched through his bag for a bandage, continuing to put pressure on the open cut. After hurriedly wrapping her arm in the bandage, he gave her another vial to drink. But this one was filled with the acidic taste of vinegar instead of the sweetness of honey.

"Lady Emilia, please keep awake," He ordered as her eyelids drooped. "Did you mean the celebrated knight, Sir St. Clair?"

"Yes, him." Emilia blinked several times, struggling against the oblivion that threatened to overcome her.

"I did not know you were marrying such a man. I give you my regards, my lady." The plague doctor bowed his head in respect.

"I have been engaged to him for quite some time," she whispered; her tone becoming airy and dazed. "Our wedding is set for the end of summer. I fear the irises will be dead by then. As will I."

Benjamin's heart skipped a beat upon hearing her ominous words. Did she have so little faith in him? "No, I assure you that you will survive. I promised."

Emilia gave a light giggle. "I do not believe you."

Benjamin rose upright, glaring down at her from behind his mask. "You will be better by then. When the time comes, there will no longer be the blemish of disease staining your body. You will wed Sir St. Clair and become the Lady St. Clair. And your bouquet will be filled with all sorts of irises. Yellows, whites, but especially purples."

He could see her brown eyes filling up with tears as she stared at him, but he ignored them and started to pack up. "I am finished with your treatment for today."

Unsteadily rising to her feet, Emilia had to hold onto the chair for balance.

"You are not yet steady enough to stand." Benjamin rushed to her side, holding her body fixed against his. He guided her to the bed and lowered her into it before checking her bandage. Seeing that the incision had not reopened, he turned stiffly on his heel to leave.

"Sir," Emilia stopped him. "Please, tell me your name."

"It does not matter," he muttered, glancing over his shoulder at her. She was upright in bed, almost as she if were about to climb out.

"It does to me."

"I am no one," he answered, walking out of the chamber with his bag in hand.

~

The candlelight flickered in the dark of the room, casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance across the walls. They taunted the man below them, reminding him of the horrors that constantly lurked about.

Wax dripped from the candle; the flame threatening to burn out as the stick grew smaller. But Benjamin paid no attention to his dimming light, reading frantically through the pages of books and journals. For some sort of answer; for one last hope.

How many yellowed pages had he skimmed through, how many treatments had he read about, he did not know the answer anymore.

He slammed his fist on the desk and nearly extinguished the flame. His frustration had swelled to its limit and was beginning to spill out of him. His progress of finding a cure, his progress of helping his patient, was lacking.

As was his progress of becoming a doctor.

A page slid down from his desk, fluttering in the air before settling on the wooden floor. Benjamin bent over and gathered it in his hands, lifting the page up to the light.

That was the initial moment Benjamin knew he was blessed by fate; that he was destined for something greater.

Scribbled onto the brown paper was the answer he had been searching for as if given to him by God himself.

**

A/N: What do you guys think so far? Did I finally get it right? :)