Vigil had been living in the asylum for three days. And she was still lying in the steam bath. She was spoon fed by the nurses, she did nothing but laid there, unable to move, listening to the occasional scream or giggle behind the walls. Her wrists and ankles itched as the belts rubbed against them. Her skin was hot and clammy with persperation. Her head ached as the voices visisted her by the hour.

She was just nodding off when the belts started slipping off her ankles and wrists. The blanket peeled away from the tub, and she waited for a rush of refreshing air, only to receive a frigid blast that freezed her damp skin.

A nurse took her arm and pulled her out of the tub. Handed her a white gown, led her toward the exit.

"You have visitors," The nurses voice was muffled at first, like she was speaking through a brick wall.

Vigil shook her head and stared at the nurse. "I have... what?"

"Visitors." The nurse huffed impatiently, ushering her down a hall. "And they have only two minutes of visiting, so don't dawdle."

She stumbled down the corridors after her, tripping over various patients curled up on the dusty floor. Somebody grumbled and another hissed, but most didn't bat an eyelash.

The nurse stopped at a door and beckoned to Vigil. "Make it quick."

Vigil creaked the door open and stepped inside. She recognized her parents at once; her father's salt and pepper hair, the slight wrinkles around her mother's lips. They stood hastily from their seats, faces anxious.

Vigil couldn't move. She should have ran to them, hugged them, cried into their clothes. Held them as tight as possible. But she felt strange, like she ahd no emotion left inside her. Perhaps she had left all her emotion back home. Or maybe her life was filled with so many tears and screams that she had sort of cried everything out. She was a dry river, an empty vessel. Nothing left inside her.

Her father spoke first. "Good morning."

She looked at him. "Is it morning? I can't tell."

Eleanor glanced at Albert, pursing her lips. "We only wanted to check up on you."

Vigil stepped closer. "Where am I?"

"It's called St. Dymphna's Mental Home," Albert replied. "It's about four hours from London."

"Why isn't Clarence here?" Vigil blurted it, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of aching for her brother.

"They only allow parents and guardians." Her mother answered.

Vigil nodded. Stepped closer. Her mother and father wrapped their arms around her damp, small shoulders and held her. She wished she could cry, wished she could comfort herself in some way. But she still felt numb. The only comfort she could scanvenge was that small embrace that lasted too shortly.

~~~~~

There was nothing but headaches the rest of the days. She was herded into the cafeteria two times a day, was handed the same brown packet that was her meal. She slept fitfully every night, whether in her cot or in another steam bath. She considered trying to meet other patients, but conversations always led to complete nonsense.

She had managed to catch a quiet corner before it was claimed by another set of skin, bones, and tears. It was dark. She was sure there was mold growing beneath her. The voices were still tapping beats into her head. Her dirty hair stuck to her forehead and neck, grease slipping down her white gown. She smelled of rotting flesh. Sour, soiled flesh.

She did nothing, only stared at the rest of the patients as they participated in various activities such as sobbing, giggling, or muttering nonsensical chants to themselves.

Then a nurse was there, clutching a clipboard. "Your treatment is ready."

Vigil said nothing, only stood up and followed the woman through a door. A chair sat in the middle of the room, straps on the arms and wires snaking over the floor. Several other white coated people were scattered about, clicking buttons and arranging things.

Vigil stopped, breath caught in her throat. "What are you going to do?" Her voice was raspy and dry.

The nurse took her arm. "Please sit down. It won't hurt."

Vigil stayed rooted to her spot as the woman tugged at her arm. She kept her eyes on the cords twisting through the room and the straps belted to the chair arms.

"Let's just calm down, shall we?" The nurse said soothingly, and Vigil finally stumbled forward. She fell into the seat. A man came up behind her and latched something to her head as another woman started strapping her arms.

"What—what does it do?" Vigil said shakily.

"It's your treatment." Was the reply.

Then it happened. It was only a slight tingle at first. Then it grew. It grew over her entire body. She felt her muscles twitching. Her eyes rolled back. Her limbs were cramping. Then, the pain. So intense, like she was being burned alive. She wanted to scream so badly. To cry and sob. But the electricity gushing over her muscles had taken any possible control she had over her body. There was nothing she could do, only sit while she was singed like a match stick.