The corridors of the hospital whispered the same sentence, over and over, until it became a part of the walls:
"The pulse is steady, but the soul vibrates differently." Shadows moved as if stitched together by hands unseen, threading through rooms left devoid.
She walked these paths, a keeper of remnants, collecting whispers not meant to stray beyond sterile sheets. Her heart, like a subtle echo, urged each step, guiding her through forgotten chambers.