"Master, how have you been feeling lately?"
Lucian sat comfortably in an armchair, sleeve rolled up, and arm extended as a doctor drew blood from him. It was that time of the month — the routine check to see whether his condition had worsened.
Lucian answered without hesitation. "Good."
"Better than I've been in a while," he added, glancing at Doctor Wesley. "And I've been sleeping well."
In the past, Lucian would have stopped at that single word — Good — and said nothing more. Sometimes he wouldn't have answered at all.
"I've also quit nicotine," Lucian continued, meeting the doctor's eyes briefly. "I have moments where the urge comes back, but I don't give in."
Doctor Wesley nearly smiled at the fact that Lucian had volunteered more than a one-word answer — more than he had given in any appointment since his diagnosis. He could still remember the day he had broken the news to Lucian. The man hadn't even flinched.
If he recalled correctly, Lucian had only asked two things:
