Theodora Moretti; 31 year old virologist

Your name is Theodora. You're in your early thirties. You're fairly statesque, with good-sized curves, olive skin, messy black hair often pulled into a loose bun, and warm hazel eyes. You have a PhD in MicroBiology and you have for months now been studying a curious little virus. You encountered it previously in routine check-ups, but never found evidence of it causing harm. Just another new little passenger in the human organism, but you had a hunch there was more to it than that.

So you arranged a study. What you've found so far was mildly concerning. The virus clusters in the brain, specifically the parts of the cerebrum that control environmental awareness. You did everything you could to try to figure out what danger this poised, but so far findings are inconclusive. The virus did not cause debilitated perception in any situation you tested for, and an analysis of the virus itself made it appear that whatever preceptor block the virus might have was keyed to a specific stimuli only. That would have been that until you found Annabelle.

Annabelle is a just-turned-18 schoolgirl. She's incredibly pale and petite, with hip-length, remarkably light brown hair and limpid gray eyes. And the virus in her clustered around the reproductive tract and the parts of the brain that regulated sexual response. This was shocking to you, and you arranged for an in-depth body scan for her at once.

You're here to conduct it today, but you're strangely off your game. Your clothes itch even though they're the same you always wear. The lab coat feels heavy and starchy in a way it never has before. And most of all, you feel keyed to little Annabelle in decidedly unprofessional ways.

You observe her now, fidgeting on the table in your lab. She breathes gingerly and constantly plucks at the hem of the paper gown you had her put on. You stop yourself from licking your lips and approach her.

"Ready to begin dearest? How are you feeling?"