Dark! The lab, the feeling in the air, the last chapter written for nanowrimo. Not the end, mind you, just a flashback from the days of ancient Europe, "Dr. Bunsen" just held up her plague-mask in a ray of sunlight and petitioned the lord that it not be her last earthly memory.
“In a dimly lit infirmary on the outskirts of the city, “Dr. Bunsen” stood up from her small desk. Cloaked in a long black robe, she grabbed the bird-like mask from under the cabinet of herbal concoctions. Cradling the protective gear in the crook of her arm she packed the inside of the proboscis with juniper berries, rose petals, and straw as she readied herself for the long day of attending to the black-lipped , lesion afflicted, victims of the Bubonic Plague. She held the beak in her palm and raised it up into what few rays of sunlight danced through an otherwise shaded window. The smell of new leather and herbs clung in the moist air. She shivered a little at the hideous look of the thing. She stared at it and prayed to god that what she saw before-her wouldn’t haunt her on her own deathbed. She shivered again and made the sign of the cross. Carrying the mask under one arm, and her silver crucifix-tipped cane under the other, she donned her kidskin leather hat and stepped through the doorway onto the cobblestone. A clanging bell resounded through the city.”
Oh poor, poor Dr. Bunsen. What have you done my dear?
Even Jim Morrison knew, "You cannot petition the Lord with prayer!"