Benjamin neared the cot, which was nothing more than thin bedding filled with wool and covered in blankets. He could still hardly believe this was the same woman he knew from another lifetime. She looked slightly different now. Her thick, curly hair was now concealed under a black veil. But her face had remained unchanged. Her brown eyes were as doe-like as ever and she was still filled with the youth he envied.

And she was very much alive.

The prioress shut the door with a slam, startling Benjamin away from the past and back to the present. He glanced down at the woman before him, who was giving him a puzzled look.

"Lady Emilia," he breathed, bowing his head.

"I am not a lady," she scoffed. "Can you not see I am a nun?" She pointed to the veil.

"R-Right." He swallowed, unable to take his eyes off her. They went to her neck where he expected a scar to be ringed around. But there was nothing, only her perfectly clear, tanned skin.

"Can I ask what symptoms you are showing?" His eyes darted to the rest of her body, trying to see if there were any buboes attached to it.

"I have these swellings." She pushed the blanket off of her, sitting up in the bed. Sliding back the sleeve of her nightgown, Emilia extended her arm out to the man.

Sure enough, there were buboes beneath her arm. Yet, there were much smaller than last time. The disease had not progressed as far.

Benjamin took this as a welcome sign in that her disease was not yet advanced. But there was still something he had to be sure of.

"May I see your hands?" He asked.

She slowly extended her hands, staring at him with that same mystified look. He could not understand why though until the thought suddenly dawned on him. Could it be she remembered him too? Was this a look of realization?

"La–Emilia, do you know who I am?" He seized her hands tightly. "Do you remember me?"

She frowned. "How could I? I cannot see your face."

"I know, but surely you must remember my voice. My costume. My name! 'Tis Benjamin. Benjamin Peters!" he exclaimed, growing closer to her face with each eager word.

Emilia tugged her hands back, trying to break free from his grip. "Sir, please! I do not know who you are! I do not know that name!"

"So then you do not remember the execution..." he trailed off, realizing that she truly did not remember him.

"Execution?" she cried, still struggling to pry her hands from his.

He sighed, seeing that there was no point in continuing this conversation. "Your fingers are not yet black." He released her hands.

"I can try bloodletting again–I mean," he quickly corrected himself, catching his error. "If you would like."

"Bloodletting? Meaning you will drain my blood, correct?" Emilia rubbed her hands, gaping at the plague doctor.

"Yes, the last time–" He groaned, frustrated with the way his mouth was not in line with his mind. "'Tis not as bad as it sounds."

"How will you do it?"

"With leeches applied to your body. This will cleanse the blood." Benjamin felt his memories filtering back and fell silent as he tied to sort them. When he performed bloodletting on Lady Emilia, leeches were a rare commodity and only used for those who could afford them.

Emilia's family could have probably afforded them though, so why hadn't he used them?

This was the question Benjamin contemplated on as he put down his bag and searched for the jar of leeches on his knees. After unscrewing the lid, he rose back up to his full height, towering over the already rattled woman.

She gulped once she saw the moving creatures in the jar. "Will this hurt?"

"No, but it will be bloody," he warned, taking one out and holding it with his index finger and thumb.

Emilia shut her eyes and turned her head away, holding her arm out to him. He was careful when he put the creature on her skin, being sure to place it gently. She let out a small gasp as it clung to her skin, turning back to watch the creature starting to suck.

"Uh, do you come from a noble family?" Benjamin continued placing the leeches across her arm, lining them in a neat row.

Emilia never took her eyes off the growing organisms when she answered. "No, I do not."

"Do you still have a brother?" He drew back, watching as the leeches begin to double in size.

She furrowed her eyebrows, bringing her gaze up to his. "Um, yes. I do."

"Are you in any pain? I can give you a herb of wintergreen to–"

"I am fine, sir," she interrupted. "If you do not mind, I would rather not talk."

Benjamin nodded, surprised by her abruptness. He never remembered Emilia being so curt before. "Of course. If you start to feel lightheaded, please tell me."

Leaving her bedside, the plague doctor took his bag to the small table on the other side of the room. He dug through it, pulling out a wrap of gauze and a pair of scissors in order to prepare for the following action.

It was then as he removed his tools from the bag did he finally receive the answer to his question. He had only been a surgeon, meaning he did not have the access or knowledge to use leeches. Seeing them now only made him feel like a simpleton. Anyone could have used them. Even a lowly physician's apprentice.

"Oh my! Doctor Peters!" Emilia whimpered, drawing his attention. "This is making a mess!"

Benjamin rushed to her side. Blood was dripping down her arm and spilling onto the floor. He couldn't help but chuckle as he started to remove the fattened leeches.

"I did tell you it would be bloody."

Emilia glared up at him. "Just please get these things off me!"

The doctor complied, detaching the leeches from her skin with a yank and placing them back in the jar. As he did so, he opened his mouth to try making conversation again. But upon seeing the woman's scowl, he immediately snapped it shut.

This Emilia did not seem as friendly.

**

Once back in the comfort of his surgery, Benjamin had barely set his bag down when he began to shake. He wrenched his mask off and tossed it to the side of the room, reminded of the day's frustrating events.

Emilia is alive.

She had remained the same on the outside. But on the inside, she had vastly changed. She was not as warm and kind like he remembered. To say he was disappointed by this transformation would be an understatement.

The more he ruminated, the more he recalled his previous life's events. He had failed to save Emilia last time despite curing her disease. And here she was again, sick with the plague.

But with her head still attached to her neck.

A low growl emitted from his throat as he knocked his instruments from the desk down to the floor. Hearing them fall with a clash quickly made him regret his outburst, turning his growl into a pant. Only children threw tantrums like that, not nearly middle-aged adults.

He tried calming himself, taking deep breaths, but he only felt more anxious. Like he was beneath someone's scrutiny.

It was then Benjamin knew he was not alone.

In the corner of the room was the mask. It stared back at him with eyes as black as they were soulless.