George inhaled sharply.
"So that's how it began... These anomalies, these entities like the Eidolon Watcher—they weren't always part of this world."
His thoughts spiraled, laced with revelation.
"Fifteen years ago... that's when everything changed. That's when people started awakening."
A quiet nod followed. A gesture not to anyone, but to the weight of truth settling on his shoulders.
As George calculated silently, he made his way to the kitchen. The room was still, save for the rhythmic sound of bread being toasted. He assembled a simple sandwich with mechanical precision, his thoughts elsewhere.
Time passed.
2:00 p.m.
The hour struck with quiet finality—his next appointment.
Mr. Anderson.
George checked the files. Nothing. No record. No prior visits.
First timer.
-------------
[2:00 p.m.]
The soft chime of the clinic entrance echoed faintly.
Victor, already waiting near the hallway, turned without expression and walked to the door. He opened it with practiced grace.
A slightly disheveled man stood outside—nervous, middle-aged, dressed like someone who took too long choosing what to wear and still wasn't sure it was right. His eyes flitted up to meet Victor's.
"Mr. Anderson?" Victor asked.
The man nodded quickly. "Yes. Uh—I'm here for the appointment."
Victor gave a short, polite bow and extended his arm. "This way. Dr. Helel is waiting."
[Consultation Room ]
George looked up from his notepad as Victor ushered the man in.
"Mr. Anderson. Welcome. Have a seat."
The man shuffled over to the chair opposite George and sat down carefully, hands folded in his lap like a schoolboy summoned to the principal's office.
George activated the table interface, a faint blue glow spreading across the surface.
"So, what brings you in today?"
Anderson cleared his throat, gaze fixed on the floor. "It's… sleep. I haven't been sleeping well. For months now."
George nodded slowly. "Trouble falling asleep, or staying asleep?"
"Both. I either lie awake for hours or I pass out and wake up three times a night. Either way, I get up tired."
"Any dreams? Nightmares?"
"Not exactly. More like... static. Confused noise. Sometimes I forget if I even slept at all."
George jotted something down, watching the man's tone more than the words.
"When did this start?"
Anderson paused. His fingers fidgeted.
"After my brother passed, last winter. But it's just sleep, right? I figured maybe it's stress. I work in finance. Long hours, you know."
George nodded again, but his expression sharpened slightly.
"Any change in appetite?"
"I guess. Not hungry most days. I eat because I have to."
"And your energy levels?"
A bitter chuckle.
"Low. Always low. Coffee's not cutting it anymore."
George leaned back slightly, eyes thoughtful.
"Mr. Anderson, I know you came in for sleep issues. And we'll definitely address that. But what you're describing... it's not just poor sleep."
Anderson looked up slowly.
"You're dealing with clinical depression. The insomnia, the low energy, loss of appetite—these are classic signs. Your sleep isn't the cause. It's a symptom."
A long silence followed. Anderson blinked a few times.
"So... I'm not just burned out?"
"No. You're exhausted, yes—but in a deeper way. And it's okay. The good news is, we can work through it. This isn't permanent."
George allowed the silence to linger just a moment longer—long enough to let the truth settle, but not so long that it became suffocating.
Then he spoke again, his tone clinical, but kind.
"Tell me about your brother, Mr. Anderson. You mentioned he passed away last winter."
Anderson swallowed, his posture tightening as if bracing against memory.
"His name was Daniel. He was younger than me. We weren't always close, but the last few years... we talked more. He got sick—fast. Cancer. The kind that doesn't wait."
George nodded, letting the name root itself in the space between them.
"Did you get a chance to say goodbye?"
Anderson gave a small shake of his head, a bitter breath escaping.
"Not really. He didn't want visitors toward the end. Said he didn't want us to see him like that. I respected it, but..." His voice cracked slightly. "There's a guilt. Like I left something unfinished."
George leaned forward, resting his hands on the edge of the desk.
"That unfinished feeling—it's common in grief, especially when the loss comes suddenly. And it often disguises itself in physical symptoms: fatigue, disrupted sleep, lack of motivation. Your body is trying to process something your mind hasn't fully faced."
Anderson blinked quickly, then pressed his knuckles against his mouth.
"I didn't think I was allowed to be this wrecked. I mean—he's the one who died suffering, right?"
"You are allowed," George said, firmly. "Grief isn't a competition. It doesn't check if your pain qualifies before showing up. And when we suppress it—when we try to stay composed for too long—it finds other ways to surface."
Anderson let out a quiet, shaky laugh. "So this... all of this is me grieving wrong?"
"There's no 'wrong' way to grieve," George replied. "But there is such a thing as grieving alone. Silently. In isolation. And that kind of grief turns inward. It erodes."
A pause.
"I've seen patients push through for years, thinking they were strong for carrying it alone. But strength isn't just endurance. It's knowing when to ask for help."
Anderson nodded, eyes red now, but clearer.
"So... where do we start?"
George tapped the interface again, dimming the light slightly to reduce the clinical glare.
"First, we stabilize your sleep. Without that foundation, any emotional work will be like building on sand. I'll prescribe a short-term sleep aid—non-habit forming. But we'll pair it with behavioral adjustments: winding down routines, digital cutoffs, guided relaxation. Victor will send you the protocol tonight "
Anderson nodded again, more grounded this time.
"And after that?"
"We begin talk therapy—targeted sessions, once a week. I want to explore the grief, the guilt, and the patterns of self-silencing I'm already sensing. It's not just about the loss—it's about how you've learned to carry pain."
After chat with Anderson george did not got up from the seat
George without he even trying his record spread to Anderson slowly from the house,which is fully colored in georges eye
George didn't rise from his seat after the session ended. He simply sat there, hands steepled, gaze resting quietly on the door Mr. Anderson had exited moments ago.
Without any conscious effort, his Record had begun to spread—slowly, subtly—from the house into Anderson. The process was natural now, like breath or thought. The mansion, fully colored in George's eyes, had extended its reach.
A soft exhale escaped him.
"Thank God it's a normal patient this time. Not another eldritch horror wrapped in human skin."
------------------
Patient Record: THOMAS ANDERSON]
First Visit – 14:00
Logged by: Dr. George Helel
Age: ~45
Occupation: Civil Office Administrator
Complaint: Persistent sleep issues, mental fatigue, general detachment.
Summary:
Mildly anxious demeanor. Shows signs of low self-worth, emotional numbness, and chronic overthinking. No awakened traits. No anomalous interference.
Diagnosis:
Classic case of high-functioning depression (Persistent Depressive Disorder), masked by routine and surface-level composure.
Plan:
Begin CBT-based treatment. Emphasis on sleep structure, emotional reintegration. No medication at this stage.