Deserve To Be Treated Worse

Robin opens her eyes slowly, her gaze fixed on the plain white ceiling above her. She feels a strange sense of numbness wash over her, as if her body has been disconnected from her mind. With a deep breath, she pushes herself up into a sitting position, her movements sluggish and deliberate.

The room is sparsely furnished, save for the large bed she's lying on and a small side table. The air is stale, carrying the faint scent of lavender that stings her nostrils. Robin pauses, her brow furrowing as she becomes aware of the IV line snaking from her arm.

She grasps it gently and pulls it free, wincing slightly at the minor pinch.

Just then, the sound of a door opening startles her. Robin turns her head to see a maid standing in the threshold, her eyes widening in surprise.

Before Robin can utter a word, the maid lets out a sharp gasp and quickly retreats, slamming the door behind her.