The Crimson Affliction

The sunlight hurt. Katarina flinched as Dr. Keller's tall windows flooded his study with afternoon light, harsh and exposing. Her hand flew to her mouth, covering the gums she knew had receded.

"Lady von Heilberg." The physician adjusted his spectacles, studying her. His gaze felt clinical, detached. Not disgusted.

She'd spent ten years in candlelit darkness. This brightness felt like judgment.

Dr. Keller gestured to a chair across from his desk. Anatomical diagrams covered the walls behind him, muscles and organs rendered in precise ink. Specimen jars lined the shelves. His world spoke of observation, not fear.

"Your cousin," he said, pressing his fingertips together in a steeple. "I was there when the Inquisition took her."

Katarina's breath caught. She'd watched from the crowd, unable to scream.

"I attempted to intervene with medical evidence." His voice dropped. "They burned her anyway."

The pen on his desk lay motionless. A leather journal sat open beside it, filled with cramped Latin notes. Documentation. Defense against chaos.

"Observe, don't assume." Dr. Keller stood, reaching for a thick volume. "What your family calls a curse, medicina calls porphyria."

The word hung between them. Unfamiliar. Scientific.

"A disorder of the blood." He opened the Paduan text to a diagram showing red blood cells. "The body cannot produce sufficient heme. This causes..." He gestured at her. "Everything they mistake for supernatural affliction."

Katarina leaned forward. Her aristocratic formality couldn't quite mask the trembling hope.

"The photosensitivity," Dr. Keller continued, his pen now moving across the journal. "Your skin blisters in sunlight because porphyrins accumulate in the tissue. Not a curse. Chemistry."

"And the..." She paused, emotion threatening her composure. "The gums?"

"Repeated attacks cause tissue damage." He sketched rapidly. "Gum recession exposes the teeth. It appears monstrous, but it's merely pathology."

The pen scratched against paper. The sound felt like salvation.

"Garlic intolerance?" she asked.

"Sulfur content triggers acute episodes." He cited a Paduan physician, numbers and Latin flowing. "Documented in fourteen cases I studied. All presenting identical symptoms to yours."

Katarina's throat tightened. Someone saw her condition as treatable. Not demonic.

"We—" She caught herself using the plural. "Those of us afflicted. You're saying we're not cursed?"

"You're ill." Dr. Keller met her eyes. "There's a profound difference."

The oil lamp on his dissection table burned low, casting shadows across the detailed anatomical drawings. Everything exposed. Every truth illuminated.

"How many others?" Her voice steadied. "How many have burned for this... porphyria?"

His pen stopped. "Too many. Which is why we must present this evidence to Church authorities."

"The Inquisition won't listen." Bitterness edged her words.

"Then we make them listen." He pressed his fingertips together again. "Science, not superstition, must prevail."

Katarina glanced at his journal. Page after page of observations, measurements, symptoms cross-referenced with medical texts. This could save them. This could end the burnings.

"I've been documenting cases," Dr. Keller said. "But I need living proof. Someone who can testify."

"You want me to..." She trailed off.

"Stand before Inquisitor Kraus." He didn't flinch from the implication. "Show them you're human. Not a monster."

The word struck her. Human. She'd stopped believing that a decade ago.

"There have been recent attacks," Dr. Keller continued, turning pages in his journal. "Victims drained of blood. The Inquisition blames your family's curse."

Katarina's hand tightened on the armrest. "They always do."

"If we investigate, gather evidence—" His enthusiasm built, logic cascading. "We can demonstrate the difference between disease and genuine threat. Prove your condition is medical, not supernatural."

Something cold settled in her stomach. "And if there is no difference?"

Dr. Keller paused. His skepticism showed in the way he adjusted his spectacles.

"Observe, don't assume," Katarina said softly, echoing his earlier words.

"Precisely." He nodded. "We observe. We document. We present irrefutable proof."

The sunlight had shifted, angling through the windows to illuminate dust motes floating between them. Each particle visible. Nothing hidden.

"When do we begin?" Katarina asked.

Dr. Keller closed his journal. "Tonight. The attacks have been in the old cathedral district."

"The catacombs." She knew the area. Her family's history ran through those tunnels.

"I've heard reports of activity near St. Stephen's." He gathered his things. "If we can observe the actual attacks, document what's truly happening..."

Katarina stood. Ten years she'd hidden. No more.

"I'll go with you," she said.

Dr. Keller met her gaze. For the first time, someone looked at her and saw a colleague. Not a patient. Not a victim.

"Then we have work to do," he said.

The oil lamp flickered. Shadows danced across the anatomical diagrams, revealing and concealing in turns. Truth and darkness, measured in candlelight.