The Healing wing was similar to any hospital on Earth.
White walls, a slight smell of antiseptic that covered other, less pleasant smells, bright artificial lights, smooth, easy to clean surfaces, and a taste of despair and sadness.
Or maybe I was projecting my bad memories of hospitals onto this one.
A young, prim woman dressed in a white dress, with her hair neatly tucked into an equally white hat, was sitting behind the desk I walked toward.
"Hello," she said, looking up from the documents she was working on. "How can I help, Miss…?"
"Morad," I said. "I'd like to visit my classmate, Miss Callida Healy."
"I see, Miss Morad," she said neutrally, and opened a big notebook in front of her, quickly flipping through the pages. When she found the entry she was looking for, she looked up,
