It's some time after midday when Sofiel hears a knock on the front door, followed by the violent jangle of the doorknob.

The first time it happened when Abigail was out and Sofiel was still mostly bedridden, it had sent her into quite the panic thinking that it was a break-in. What with her being immobile and close to helpless, Sofiel knew there was little to nothing that she could do to fend off a potential intruder. And she had feared the repercussions.

But now, she can barely even spare a blink in the direction of the rattling door.

"You're up and about. That's good," Leah says, in lieu of a greeting, as she shuffles into Abigail's apartment, hefting at her medical kit.

"I heal fast." Sofiel sends her a small, wry smile in turn.

It's the third time this week Leah has dropped by, and Sofiel is more or less familiar with the drill by now.

Sitting herself upright from her languid sprawl across the lounge, Sofiel begins the dreary process of peeling off her jumper while Leah sets herself up a little ways behind her. If she had known to expect Leah today, she would have chosen to wear something like a button-down shirt for easy access. But she supposes it's too late for that, and she'll just have to make do to be careful to not jostle the right side of her body too much.

With her jumper and bra now neatly folded aside, and her top half exposed, bared out to space of Abigail's apartment, Sofiel feels oddly naked.

Vulnerable.

It's strange. Unsettling even.

She has never had a problem with nudity before. After all, modesty is all but a very mortal concept. But with the brand of the stigma and the mutilated stumps of her sin laid out in the open like this — albeit, under the layers of bandages and dressing — she wishes nothing more than to cover herself up with a throw or a pillow.

Shame, is what Sofiel would come to recognise as this ugly hollowness in her chest later. But for now, she's simply grateful that it doesn't take long for Leah to snap on her gloves to begin her routine examination.

Fastidious hands fan across her shoulder blades, working at unfurling the bandages that have been meticulously wrapped over her dressed wounds. Unlike Abigail, Leah's touch is distinctly impersonal — cold and clinical. A testimony to her experience as the Order's medic. It's clear within the first couple seconds of her patching Sofiel up the first time around that she has done this many times before.

Even so, it still doesn't stop Sofiel from wanting to fidget. Anything to get away from the rubbery — foreign — sensation of latex against her flesh.

"What've you been up to today?" Leah inquires in her attempt at small talk.

It's not her strongest suit by far, but at least she's trying. Sofiel will give her that. And she will honestly take anything over the burgeoning silence that is starting to border on awkward.

"Reading." Sofiel gestures to the piles of books littered across the coffee table in tiny hills and mountains.

It's literally all she's been doing all day. Drawing in on the wealth of knowledge from the books, which Abigail has shelved away in a dusty corner of her lounge room, put up solely for the purpose of display and nothing else. She had figured that since she is to be trapped in the lower realm indefinitely with no return, she should might as well start educating herself on the mortal's culture while she can.

And what better way to get herself informed than hitting the books?

No doubt, they have been nothing short of a great source of information to Sofiel. Each one different from the next. She finds herself getting sucked in fairly easily. Transported away to unfamiliar lands, spanning across the various time periods of the mortal realm. She scans through each and every layer of text with much care and attention, ruminating in the thoughts of the writer — the mortal — behind the pages.

Their motivations.

Their shortcomings.

As it would seem, they're all ever-changing. Never stagnant. Every single one of them so unlike the next. Some are contradictory to others. While others are... perplexing, to put it simply.

At the end of it all, while insightful as it had all been, Sofiel is left feeling more confused than she's ever been before.

Throwing a cursory peek past Sofiel's shoulder to glimpse at the current book that she has in her lap, fingers leafing through yellow-aged pages idly, Leah sounds out a low chuckle. "Pride and Prejudice? I didn't peg you to be one for romance."

The amusement is clear in her voice, but Sofiel shrugs it off easily. "The mortal customs in this book come across as a lot more different to the ones I've observed now."

"How so?"

"The oppression of female mortals is a lot more pronounced in this book and particular era. Why are they treated any differently from their male counterpart? In fact, why are they treated any differently in the first place? It's something I've been trying to wrap my head around for millennials."

Behind her, Leah breathes out a quiet sigh that is tinged, heavy with defeat. "It's something I've been trying to wrap my head around too. But with the whole feminist movement going on, I guess it's better these days."

Sofiel huffs, shaking her head.

"I just don't understand it. You mortals just seem so bent on setting yourselves apart from one another for some reason. Rich, poor. Male, female. At the end of the day, you're all from the same mould my Father has sculpted you from. Just mortals."

"If only we all can be 'just mortals', the world would be a better place," Leah laughs wryly, albeit the wistful lilt to her voice is not lost on Sofiel.

As the last of Sofiel's bandages unravel, pooling around her in small spiral mounds, she holds her breath. Her muscles coil, tensing in nervous anticipation as Leah peels away the final piece of soiled dressing with much care. She presses a gloved hand into the small of Sofiel's back, and makes a soft noise that's akin to a pensive hum.

"How's it looking?" Sofiel hazards in a tiny voice, partly to fill in the short lapse in their conversation. But more so to quell off the growing dread, gnawing away at her insides, coursing through her system like poison.

She fights the urge to wring at her hands.

"Better," answers Leah tersely.

Though, Sofiel doesn't miss the split-second hesitation in her voice — nor did she miss the abrupt stilling of her hands for that one imperceptible moment.

She knows it's a lie.

Just like how she knows that there is no real need for Leah to be checking in on her wounds every so often as she is probably just using it as an excuse to keep an eye on Sofiel. What with her impending descension drawing nigh.

Leah continues to dress her wounds in relative silence. For two full minutes, no one speaks. The only sound between them being the quiet rustle of bandages against skin, and the distant ticking of the clock above the TV unit. Sofiel counts them down. Partly out of habit, though mostly in a vain attempt to keep herself occupied from the growing silence that feels almost weighted.

She can just quite about hear Leah thinking behind her. Her cogs and wheels spinning, creaking away aggressively in motion. Can feel her gaze boring into her shoulder, straying over to her bicep while her fingers work quickly over the bandages that are holding her dressings in place.

There's a question in the air, suspended in the space between them, and it hangs thick — like a silver axe looming above Sofiel's head.

"Your stigma..." Leah begins, chewing her words out slowly. She smooths at her perfect handiwork, tugging the bound bandages tight.

All while as Sofiel waits for the other shoe to drop.

"Has it been spreading still?"

And there it is.

Sofiel fiddles with her fingers, stalling. "Not as much as I would think," she sighs quietly, shifting slightly.

Not that the purification ritual hadn't served its purpose. It most certainly did. Having slowed down the spread of the stigma so much that it's nearly negligible to the naked eye. Though, ultimately, it's nothing more than just a temporary fix. Like plugging a cork into a sinking ship.

Either way, it's still going to sink.

Shame makes her chest twinge ugly, seeding through her lungs and bursting past the cracks of her ribs, making it hard to breathe. And as the seconds tick past with the weight of Leah's gaze bearing down on her, the urge to cover herself hits Sofiel back at full force.

"Has it been giving you any trouble lately?"

"Not really, no," replies Sofiel truthfully.

Behind her, Leah hems and haws, her gloved fingers brushing along the outline of her stigma while she stews in her thoughts, deliberating over her next move.

When at last, she releases a long breath.

Then, closes her medical kit with a resounding click that rings of finality.

"We'll wrap it up the next time around. Saturate it in holy water. It's a long shot, but maybe it'll slow it's spread further. But for now, we'll leave it as it is."

"That's it?" Sofiel asks, a touch tentative as she shrugs her shirt back on slowly.

"That's it for today." Leah nods, stowing her medical kit aside, albeit still staying put, making no indication that she's leaving any time soon.