In Song's world, everything has its place. Each jar is tucked away in its proper compartment, neatly labeled and precisely arranged. She slides the diced ginger away, remembering a day when her life hadn't had that reliable, safe order, when the monotonous rituals surrounding her existence had been interrupted.

Her eyes drift to the back of the room, her hand stayed. A boy with golden eyes had stood there once, reluctant to tell her anything, reluctant to let her in- reluctant to let anyone in.

She knew her place- here, where she could staunch wounds, ease pain, and keep that patient's spark of life from flickering out. But… where was his?

A slow, sad smile graces her lips. Of all the things on her shelf, there is nothing to help him. Some scars must be healed by time.