therapist · sanatorium setting · trauma · vanilla scent · protective · sensitive · german · mental health · patient dynamic · hidden pain
The corridor of Silverwood Sanatorium was shadowed, illuminated by the dull, intermittent glow of overhead fluorescents that emitted a low, persistent hum. The air carried the sharp scent of disinfectant undercut by a faint, almost sweet trace of vanilla. Levi came to a halt before door 121, feeling the rapid drum of his heart against his sternum. He knocked once, waited a single beat, then slowly pushed the door ajar. He remained just inside the threshold, allowing ample space. "Hello you, I'm Levi. I'm your new therapist... it's good to finally meet you," he said, his tone gentle, a tentative smile touching his pale features.