"Where is she?" The young man demands.
"Who, monsieur?" the receptionist responds without moving nary an eyebrow. Things like this happen a lot in big hospitals and trauma centers, this she knows for a fact.
"Guirre—the Comtess de Guirre! Aria!" The man is nearly frantic with exhaustion, having come a long ways, all the way from the area around Rouen.
"Hmm… Let's see," the lady muttered. It was becoming more and more visible that the man was becoming thoroughly impatient.
"That patient is in surgery, monsieur. May I ask your name, monsieur?"
"Christoph Leon, I am about as close to family as she has. And I have no doubt that she would like a private room."
"Your request will be taken, given the situation. Would you mind waiting?"
"No, I wouldn't mind," Christoph replies.
"There are magazines, puzzles, and books, if you would care to use to take your mind off this stressful situation," she offers.
"Merci, madame," he responds with a sigh, releasing the tension he had built up within himself. The receptionist returns back to her work.
Five hours pass when the doctor finally comes out.
"The good news: Mademoiselle Guirre has survived. The bad news is that right now she is still unconscious, but stable now, and it will take a long time to recover from her injuries. No matter how much she recovers, she will, no doubt, never be quite the same again."
"How so?" Christoph pleads for an answer.
"For one, she'll always have a scar—we tried our best, but it cannot be helped. The other is that we were, for the most part, able to piece her shattered scapula back together, but some pieces were absolutely too small. She also broke several ribs and snapped her tibia and fibula in her right leg, which happened most likely when she fell. She will walk again, but probably never without a limp. Also she may not have full range of movement again with that shoulder."
"But will she recover?"
"That is unknown, but we hope so. Right now she needs her rest. Go home and get some sleep. We'll contact you with any new developments."¬