A quiet voice came from the hallway. “Phoebe? I’m just here to take a look at your wounds.”
All three of them watched Bluebell enter in. He asked Phoebe if she could walk, and when she nodded he took the mug and helped her up.
He led her into the room next to the kitchen, which she had discovered was Cat’s study. It was a room befitting a scholar. The floor was a darker wood than the rest of the house, and covered by an area rug in the middle. It was snug, with the number of desks and bookshelves making it appear smaller than it really was. Adorning the wall was Dr. Ivan Morevna’s Ph.D., along with Firebird-related art and souvenirs which remained on display after his death. Although Cat was often glued to his laptop, one of the desks was taken up by his dual-monitor setup and various used dishes.
“This will have to do,” Bluebell spoke to himself as he motioned for Phoebe to take a seat on the nearest desk. There were stacks of books on the floor near it and a leather bag sitting on its surface. She scooted up onto it the same way she did with the beds in doctors offices, and half expected a thin sheet of paper to crinkle under her.
“This is all my fault,” she laughed dryly.
“Nobody died- hey, not even you. And siblings fight. You should hear the arguments my sister and I used to get into. Now, we should stitch this up.”
“So you are a doctor?” Her eyes fell onto the bag, which he pulled a curved needle and sutures out of.
Bluebell paused. “I went to med school. I’ve got a degree. Don’t worry, I can treat you just fine.”
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