Every time she's told that someone has come to talk to her, a part of her perks up, wondering if Tai or Van are actually keeping their promise to come visit, and that part is inevitably disappointed when it's just another psychiatrist who looks at her with those pitying, dismissive eyes. Each moment passes in a familiar haze, made up of medications and dissociation, and it's all Lottie can do to stay present enough to answer the never-ending stream of questions pointed her way. Either it's doctors or nurses or other medical professionals, or police and their inquiries into what happened that night. She responds to them to the best of her ability, trying to swim through the murky depths of her brain.
Once again, she is led to one of the private rooms that they use for "discussions" that end up more like interrogations, and she waits. The only sign of any anxiety is her fingers fidgeting slightly against each other, but to anyone else, she still looks the very picture of poise. Straight spine, demure expression on her face, the Matthews mask perfected over so many years. When the door finally opens, a stranger walks in, though there's something about this woman that feels different than the others who've come to see her. She doesn't know what exactly, but Lottie sits up just a little straighter and folds her hands together on the table in front of her.
"Good afternoon," she greets the other woman softly, nodding to the chair on the other side of the table. "How can I help you today?" // plotted starter for @superintcndent
