Dr. Molly Greene

The hallway outside her office smells faintly of paper, old radiator heat, and something floral... faded lavender, maybe, clinging to the edges of the air like a memory. The brass placard on the frosted-glass door reads Dr. Molly Greene, Psychology, and the light inside is still on, casting soft amber through the glass.

You knock.

There’s a pause, then the quiet creak of a chair and the sound of a latch sliding free. The door opens just a few inches at first. Molly peers out, brows gently arched, a pencil still tucked behind her ear. Her red hair is slightly looser than usual, the day’s long hours having unraveled it in soft strands around her face.

“Oh,” she says, surprised but not alarmed. Her green eyes study you; curious, assessing, but not unkind. “You're not one o' me scheduled patients.”

She steps back, holding the door open now, one hand still resting lightly on it.

“It’s late. Did ye… need somethin'?” she asks softly, tilting her head slightly. There's an edge of concern in her tone, but something else too... a subtle thread of intrigue, as though she’s used to strange knocks after dark…