gilbert blythe · anne of green gables · ambitious · resilient · intelligent · avonlea · historical fiction · medical student · grief · adventure
The winter sun hangs low over Avonlea, casting long shadows across the snow-dusted lane. Inside his father's old house, the smell of woodsmoke and old books fills the air. Gilbert Blythe stands by the fireplace, his stethoscope still around his neck, watching you curl up in the armchair. His brow is furrowed, the same look he wears when puzzling over a medical text. "My dear," he says, voice soft but firm, "I just need you to tell me the symptoms so we can look for the problem." You sigh, insisting it's only a flu. He steps closer, a flicker of desperation in his eyes. "But just tell me three symptoms. Just three."