The hired coach lurched to a stop, and Katherine gripped the leather bench to keep from sliding off. Swallowing hard, she took a trembling breath and waited.

Waiting. It felt like that's what she'd been doing all morning. Waiting for the doctor. Waiting to hear the truth she already knew. Waiting to learn of her fate. Waiting for answers that would never come. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

She squeezed her eyes shut as memories of the past hours flashed through her mind.

Merrill, unmoving and covered in blood.

The look of horror on her parents' faces.

The evidence of her crimes staining her nightgown and hands.

Glancing down, she found the stains were still there. She'd desperately tried to wipe them away after being banished to her room while the doctor tended to Merrill. But her attempts had only made things worse.

You make everything worse.

No wonder they're sending you away.

A sob clawed at her throat, but she forced it down. They were right, of course. It turned out the voices were more knowledgeable than she'd realized. There'd been no denying what her mother intended to do when she entered Katherine's room. The tears on her cheeks and the look of utter resentment in her hard, cold eyes told Katherine exactly what was going to happen to her. Even more so did her mother's command to don her coat and boots speak volumes of her fate. Her mother wouldn't dare let her go anywhere in only her nightgown. She'd rather die than allow one of her children to be seen in such a state.

Unless her child was going somewhere she wouldn't be seen.

The coach door was wrenched open. Katherine took a sharp breath, and once again, she was greeted by those cold, hate-filled eyes. Even with her hair a mess and her coat and scarf hastily thrown on, her mother was an intimidating vision. Her cheeks were rosy from having spent the long carriage ride up front with the driver. More proof of how much she hated Katherine. Her mother would never have stooped to sitting with the help. To have her own flesh and blood choose a complete stranger over her only twisted the knife deeper into Katherine's gut.

"Come," her mother said, turning without even offering Katherine a hand.

Drawing her coat closer to herself, Katherine immediately obeyed. There was a little more light now than there had been when they'd left home. She was not unfamiliar with the stillness of the twilight hours; the voices and visions often woke her early or kept her up through the night. It was a beautiful time of day, but today she was unable to appreciate it. Whenever she looked up at the colors in the sky, she saw Merrill's blood in the pinks and reds.

Murderer.

"Wait here. I'll return shortly," her mother said to the driver. She then turned her eyes to Katherine and nodded sharply towards the road. "Follow me."

Without waiting for a response, she proceeded forward at a harried pace, forcing Katherine to run in order to catch up.

"I'll return shortly."

The words echoed in Katherine's head as she kept her eyes on the filthy cobble-stoned road. That just confirmed her suspicions. She wasn't coming back. Wherever she was going, she wasn't coming back.

And she could guess where it was she was being left.

They soon approached a rusted iron-wrought fence. There was a sign hanging above a stone archway, its gold lettering faded and weathered so that the words could barely be made out:

Elysium Asylum.

The name sent a chill through Katherine's veins. It wasn't as though she hadn't known. This had been her fear from the moment she realized what was wrong with her. Those who were dangerous and insane were shipped off. Some even disappeared in the middle of the night, torn from their beds and never heard from again. And these were the sorts of places they ended up.

It's what you deserve.

Katherine swallowed hard as she stared up at the haunting sign. The voices were right. This was where she belonged.

"Come," her mother barked, gripping her arm and tugging her through the open gate.

Katherine tried not to resist, but fear was clawing at her chest. Shadows danced in the corners of her vision, monstrous figures that grabbed at her hair and coat, causing her to twitch and stumble. Her mother dragged her up the crumbling steps to the sad-looking house. It was made of moss-covered stones that were stained with blood Katherine hoped was only in her head. The windows were dark and scuffed, making it impossible to see inside. Perhaps that was for the best. Her imagination didn't need any help conjuring up visions of what horrors the voices insisted laid behind the splintered door before her.

Her mother knocked and then straightened her posture as they waited. Tremors seized Katherine's limbs as the seconds ticked by. The voices had taken to whispering. She couldn't discern the words, but she knew they were about her. Something about death. And blood.

And Merrill.

A sudden pain stabbed through her heart, and a sob tore at her throat. Her mother eyed her and scoffed. "Feigned remorse will do you no good now," she snapped, turning back to face the door.

"It's not feigned," Katherine whispered. "I love Merrill. I never meant to hurt him."

Her mother gave a bitter laugh. "You don't stab people you love, Katherine."

"I didn't know it was him. I saw a—"

"It doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done. It can't be taken back."

"Mother, I—"

"You are a liability, Katherine. A danger. I can't risk you destroying our family any more than you already have."

Her mother quickly swiped at the fresh tears streaming down her face, and the sight of this blatant display of emotion silenced Katherine. Her mother never cried. She never showed weakness. This could only mean—

The door opened, interrupting her dark thoughts as a woman appeared before them. She was large and pasty, and seemed thoroughly annoyed by their presence. "Can I help you?" she barked.

Katherine's mother regained her composure and tightened her grip on Katherine's arm. "I have a patient to admit."

The large woman took a step forward. Her small, beady eyes looked Katherine up and down, and her lips, painted a bright, unnatural color, quirked into a disapproving smirk. There were crumbs stuck to the corner of her mouth, and they seemed as though they'd been there for days. Perhaps they were from the same meal that stained the woman's old cotton dress.

"Another young girl," the woman said in a sickly sweet voice that did not match her appearance. "Isn't that always the way? So what's brought you here today? Promiscuity? Kick to the head? Imaginary female troubles?"

"I was under the impression your establishment required no explanation," Katherine's mother said.

"We like to know what we're dealing with. How else are we expected to treat the problem?"

"I'm not as concerned with treating it as I am with containing it."

Katherine held back a whimper. Contain it. More like contain her. Not that she could blame her mother. She was dangerous. Violent.

A killer.

"I'm afraid we'll need to know the basics all the same," the woman with the lipstick continued. "Asylum policy."

"My son," Katherine's mother spat out. "There was an incident. With a knife. She . . ."

Again, her eyes filled with tears, and her voice trailed off as she took a shaky breath. Katherine's stomach twisted into a sick knot. The reality of what she'd done assaulted her with new force.

She glanced down at her hands. Merill's blood was still there. Would it ever come off? Or would she live with this stain forever?

"Ah, I see," the asylum woman said, throwing Katherine one last glance before pulling herself up to her full height. "Well, if it's containment and prudence you're after, I'm afraid we'll require some extra . . . security."

Security? What was that supposed to mean?

"After all," the woman continued, "it takes a lot of work to be sure word don't get around about our patients' histories. Paperwork must be lost. Names forgotten. These things don't come for free."

"I expected no less," Katherine's mother said without hesitation. She pulled a large purse from her coat pocket and handed it to the woman. "I trust this will be enough 'security'?"

The woman's eyebrows rose as she weighed the heavy purse in the palm of her hand. A wicked smile tugged at the crumby corner of her mouth. Tucking the money away in her pocket, she flashed Katherine's mother a grin.

"I suppose it will do," she said. She reached out and took hold of Katherine's arm, pulling her towards herself. "We'll take good care of the girl, don't you worry."

Katherine let out a short gasp at the feel of the woman's fat fingers wrapped around her arm. She instinctively resisted, but the woman wrenched her back, tightening her grip.

"Now, now, let's have none of that," she said, her voice low but filled with threats.

Every inch of Katherine's body went rigid, and the voices urged her to scream, to attack, to run. But she ignored them, instead setting her gaze on her mother, hoping the cold, grief-stricken woman would see the utter fear and sincere regret in Katherine's eyes.

And for a moment—a brief, hopeful moment—there was a glimmer of something in her mother's hard stare. Compassion? Forgiveness? Maternal affection?

But then, in an instant, it was replaced by that same icy stoicism, and she turned her attention back to the large woman holding Katherine tight. "You'll keep this quiet?" she asked.

The woman with the lipstick grinned and pulled Katherine close, patting her on the shoulder. The gesture made Katherine's skin crawl. "Quiet as the grave," the woman said.

Again, something sparked in her mother's eyes. But before Katherine could identify it, her mother turned and proceeded back down the walkway.

"Mother," Katherine said, her voice trembling. "Mother, please."

But her mother showed no sign of hearing her as she neared the gate.

"Mother, please," she tried again, pulling away from the horrible woman.

The gate creaked and clanged shut as her mother exited the yard.

"Mother!" Katherine cried out, falling to her knees in a last-ditch effort to escape. "Mother! I'm sorry! Please! I'm so sorry! Don't leave me . . . don't leave me here . . ."

She collapsed to the ground, suddenly unable to catch her breath. Her vision blurred as her surroundings faded into darkness. The voices whispered and laughed at her plight, reminding her that this was what she deserved.

They were right.

She deserved this.

All of this.

And worse.

So why was she so desperate to escape?

"Get up."

A sharp pain radiated through her shoulder as she was roughly pulled back to her feet. The woman with the lipstick turned her around, all the fake sweetness vanished from her face. She looked her up and down again and gave a grunt before dragging her up the steps and into the sad, pathetic building.

Into the madhouse.

The air inside was thick and feverish. It smelled of bodies. Dozens of sweaty bodies that hadn't been bathed in weeks. And it was uncomfortably warm. Almost suffocating. The frigid winter weather outside was preferable to the unnatural state of the hall in which Katherine now stood.

Run!

Get out!

Quick!

Now!

"Are you listening?"

The large woman's sharp words pulled Katherine's attention from the voices and back to her. The woman stared at her for a long moment before giving a contemptuous sniff and turning away.

"So what exactly is it that's wrong with you?" she asked as she led Katherine down the hallway, her grip on her wrist like a vise.

Panic rose up in Katherine's chest, years of hiding the truth having a firm hold on her.

"Did you hear me, girl?" the woman snapped, glancing over her shoulder irritably.

Swallowing down her reservations, Katherine replied, "I see things."

"See things?"

"That aren't there. And voices, too."

"For how long?"

"Since I was a child. Eleven, I think."

"And how old are you now?"

"Sixteen."

"And did the voices tell you to kill your brother?"

The woman's cold and heartless inquiry stopped Katherine dead in her tracks. The despair and sorrow closed in on her now that someone had actually spoken the words she knew to be true.

She'd killed her brother.

She'd killed Merrill.

"I asked you a question," the woman snapped.

Taking a deep breath, Katherine forced herself to stop reliving that horrible moment. "No. No, I didn't . . . I didn't know . . . I didn't . . ."

The tears would not be held back. But before she could even work up a proper sob, the awful woman tugged her forward again, pulling her down the hall. "It's a miracle your parents waited this long to send you away. Anyhow, I'll show you to your room. Once the others start to rise, we'll get you started on your treatments."

"Treatments?" Katherine repeated as the woman took an abrupt turn down another hallway.

Looking back at her, the woman gave a wicked smile. "Our well-trained staff know how to settle an addled brain."

Though her words sent a shiver through Katherine's body, she dared to hope. If legitimate doctors and nurses were going to treat her, perhaps she'd get better. And if she got better, maybe her family would welcome her home.

Well, what was left of her family.

A painful knot formed in her throat as the large woman stopped in front of a door. "Wait in here while I fetch you something to wear," she said as she pulled a massive ring of keys from her pocket and slipped one into the lock. "I'll be needing your coat and shoes first, though."

Katherine held her coat closed as she shrank away. "My coat and shoes?"

"Are you daft as well as mad, girl? Yes, your coat and shoes. Come now, off with them."

Without giving Katherine a chance to comply, the woman ripped the coat off, leaving her standing there in her thin nightgown. Katherine quickly crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable.

The woman laughed as she turned the pockets of the coat inside out. "A modest one, eh? You'll get over that."

Finding nothing within the coat, the woman tossed it over her shoulder and again grabbed Katherine's wrist. She pushed her through the door without warning, and Katherine tripped over the hem of her nightgown, tumbling to the ground. A stained mattress broke her fall, but her knee still hit the hard, cold floor. She winced against the pain, rubbing her sore leg while the woman came in after her.

"Your new home away from home," the woman said, stooping over to yank Katherine's boots off her feet. "I'll let you settle in for a spell before we get you to work."

"Work?" Katherine repeated. "I thought you said treatments?"

"Oh, so you do know how to listen. That will make your time here far easier. Now, be a good girl until I come back. It'd be a shame to have to send you for behavioral treatments on your first day, now wouldn't it?"

Behavioral treatments? What exactly were behavioral treatments?

But something about the woman's wicked grin kept Katherine from inquiring further. She simply swallowed hard and nodded.

The woman's ugly, crumby lips twitched. "So compliant. Let's hope it lasts. For your sake as much as ours."

Katherine's heart skipped a beat as the door swung shut with a mournful moan, plunging the room into utter darkness. The lock turned and clicked as the woman secured it, and then heavy footsteps plodded away until the only sounds that remained were the voices still whispering in Katherine's head.

Run.

Get out.

You can't stay here.

You have to run.

Or you'll die.

The knot in Katherine's throat thickened as she felt her way onto the mattress. Pulling her knees to her chest, she curled up into a ball and closed her eyes.

What did it matter if she died here? It's what she deserved. After what she did to Merrill, she deserved all of this.

The scene played out in her head again.

The wolf.

The knife.

Her brother's cry.

And blood.

Everywhere.

Merrill's blood.

You killed the only person who ever loved you.

You're a monster.

A sob burst from her lips, and she buried her face into her nightgown. She was a monster. A filthy, murderous monster.

And she was exactly where she belonged.

~

The door flew open, flooding the room with a dim light and pulling Katherine from a trancelike sleep. She scrambled to her feet, but the threadbare blanket on the mattress tangled about her ankles, causing her to trip and fall. Her bruised knee hit the floor again, and this time she couldn't hold back a cry.

"Enough of that racket," snapped the Lipstick Woman, towering over her with a disapproving scowl.

Katherine glanced up in time to catch a wad of fabric coming straight at her face. She squinted against the dark, barely able to make out a brown cotton dress and a pair of thin grey stockings.

"Come on, now," said the Lipstick Woman, her hands on her hips as she tapped her foot impatiently. "We haven't got all day.

Furrowing her brow, Katherine looked from her to the clothes in her hand. Did she expect her to change? Right here in front of her?

"Do I have to dress you myself?" the woman said. "Because if I do, I can assure you it won't be a pleasant experience."

Katherine wanted to argue. To object. But the fierce look in the large woman's eyes froze her tongue. Biting her lip, she turned her back in an attempt to gain some bit of privacy. As quickly as she could with her shaking hands, she stripped her nightgown off and slipped into the scratchy, overly starched dress. As she struggled into the stockings, the Lipstick Woman snatched up her nightgown and examined it closely.

"You come from money, don't you, girl?" she said, fingering the fine fabric.

The money in her mother's purse should have made that obvious, but rather than point that out, Katherine gave a short nod.

Grunting, the woman balled the nightgown up and stuffed it into a pocket in her smock. "I suppose that means you're unfamiliar with physical labor?"

Katherine rose up and hesitated. She'd watched Ottie and the other servants perform their duties at home. And she'd helped in the kitchen once in a while when her mother wasn't around. But that couldn't exactly be considered work.

She folded her hands before her skirt and gave another silent nod.

With an exasperated sigh, the Lipstick Woman took hold of her arm with that vise-like grip. "We'll fix that. Let's go, let's go, no dilly-dallying."

Practically dragging her down the dimly lit hallway, the Lipstick Woman brought her to the foyer where she'd first stepped foot into the establishment. There was a bucket sitting by the door, along with two other girls in dresses similar to her own. They were on their hands and knees, scrubbing the grimy floor while a large bald man who resembled an ape watched over them. As she and the Lipstick Woman approached, he cocked an eyebrow and nodded at Katherine.

"New girl," the Lipstick Woman explained, pushing her forward. "Just arrived this morning."

The Ape Man's eyes flickered to Katherine once more. He gave her a quick once-over before grunting and leaning against the wall, picking at his short, filthy nails.

"Enough gawking, girl," the Lipstick Woman said, shoving her towards the bucket. "Get to work scrubbing these floors. I want them to shine by lunch."

Scrub the floors? What sort of treatment was that? How was this supposed to help her condition?

The Lipstick Woman must have noticed her hesitation, as she grabbed the back of her neck and forced her onto her knees. "Don't test my patience, girl. You won't like me when I lose my temper."

Every muscle in Katherine's body went stiff, but she quickly rolled up her sleeves and submerged her hands in the bucket of strong-smelling water. Sharp, stinging pain bit at her skin. She gasped and snatched her hands away.

A low chuckle came from behind her, and she peeked over her shoulder to see the Ape Man grinning at her, as if taking pleasure in her suffering.

"It isn't going to get any better the longer you wait," the Lipstick Woman snapped. "Or would you rather I dump the lye on your head to get you better acclimated? Hm?"

Katherine's eyes darted to the Ape Man who now stood a little straighter, as if anticipating the chance to perform such a horrific task. Breathing in deeply, she returned her attention to the bucket and plunged her hands into the murky water, biting back a scream as the chemical mixture burned her skin. She grabbed the rag at the bottom of the bucket and quickly got to work scrubbing.

The Lipstick Woman watched her for a moment before huffing and turning to the Ape Man. "Watch that one."

With that, she stormed away, her heavy footsteps echoing down the hall.

After a while of silent cleaning, Katherine dared to steal a glance at her fellow patients. One looked to be about her age. She was small and bony, as if she hadn't eaten a proper meal in months. The other seemed a bit older, though she was just as emaciated as the younger one. Both were filthy, their hair plaited into tangled braids and matted in dark, crusty clumps. Their hands were calloused and scarred, and their arms, revealed by their rolled-up sleeves, were covered in bruises. Still, despite their fragile, beaten appearance, they made no protest as they dipped their rags into the bucket of lye.

Katherine winced as she wet her own rag again. She'd hoped after the first few times her hands would go numb. Unfortunately, the pain only got worse due to the cuts on her knuckles from scrubbing the splintered hardwood floor. Gritting her teeth as she again subjected herself to the burning sting, she focused on the work before her. The fumes from the cleaner made her head spin and her vision blur. It was nothing she wasn't used to, though. As it was, she was doing her best to ignore the mice scurrying about the hall, climbing the walls and crawling up her skirt. Maybe the chemicals would help chase the visions away.

"All right," said the Lipstick Woman as she returned, eyeing the floor with a critical gaze. "This is good enough. Move on to the kitchen."

The two other girls quickly rose to their feet, but when Katherine followed suit, the world around her began to fade. Darkness filled her senses. Her legs gave out from beneath her, and before she hit the floor, her consciousness fled.

~

She woke with a sudden gasp and then nearly choked when she inhaled a mouthful of the ice-cold water that had been dumped on her head. Coughing and gagging as she struggled to sit up, she was met by a low chuckle. Finally managing to expel the liquid from her lungs, she looked up and found the Ape Man leering over her, an empty bucket in his hands. The amusement on his face was both enraging and terrifying.

"Look at the sorry state of this hallway," said the Lipstick Woman, who was standing beside him, her arms crossed over her chest as she glared at Katherine. "You're lucky I decided not to use the lye bucket. Now get up and clean this mess before I change my mind."

Her stinging hands serving as a reminder of what sort of damage the lye could do to the rest of her, Katherine moved to sit up. However, she came to a sudden halt as an intense pain shot from the back of her head down to her neck. A wince was on the tip of her tongue, but one look from the Lipstick Woman silenced her. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she quickly retrieved her rag and began wiping up the still-filthy and now-wet floor.

The Lipstick Woman heaved a weary sigh. "These pampered little debutants. They'll be the death of me."

Once the mess in the hallway was cleaned, Katherine was brought to the kitchen where her companions from earlier were already scrubbing away. She joined them, ignoring the throbbing ache in her head and the warm trickle of what she assumed was blood making its way down her neck. The Ape Man, still supervising them, didn't seem to notice the injury. Katherine herself would have thought it was just a hallucination if the pain weren't so excruciating.

After scrubbing the kitchen, she and the other girls were led to another hallway, followed by another until Katherine lost count of the number of disgusting floors she'd scrubbed. Her back ached and her chest burned from inhaling the harsh chemicals. How long had they been at this? It seemed like hours, but it was impossible to know for sure. There appeared to be no clocks or windows in the entire building. They were completely cut off from the outside world. And maybe that was for the best.

"It will do," the Lipstick Woman said as she reappeared after they'd finished the final hallway. "Take them back to their rooms."

The Ape Man, who'd been lazily watching them work the whole time, pushed himself away from the wall on which he was leaning. He scooped up the bucket of lye and proceeded down the hall. The two other girls silently got to their feet and followed after him, eyes trained on the floor they'd spent hours washing.

Katherine moved to follow them, but the Lipstick Woman grabbed her arm and yanked her backwards. Resisting the urge to fight back, Katherine stood still as the woman roughly examined the cut on her head.

"Not even here a day and already hurting yourself," the Lipstick Woman sighed. "Not serious enough to waste medical supplies, though. Just be sure this doesn't happen again. I'd hate to have to confine you to your room. Come along, now."

She brought her down the same hallways Katherine had cleaned, although she couldn't for the life of her tell them apart. Everything looked the same here. The same whitewashed walls stained yellow from time and neglect. The same splintered, scuffed floors that remained filthy despite all the scrubbing they'd done. And the same candles locked away up high, their dim light casting menacing shadows. Or were the shadows in her head? She was too tired to even try to figure it out.

They arrived at one of the many identical doors, and the Lipstick Woman pulled it open and pushed her inside without a word. Katherine stumbled into the pitch dark, jumping as the door slammed closed behind her.

Finally alone, she collapsed onto the scratchy mattress and wrapped her arms around herself. The wound on her head pulsated, sending waves of pain and nausea throughout her body. Every muscle ached, and her bloody knuckles smarted. She didn't realize so many parts of her could hurt at once.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she let out a tearful breath, desperately trying to keep herself together. She had no right to complain. Not after what she'd done. Her body may be battered and bruised, but at least she was alive to feel the pain. Merrill didn't have that luxury. He couldn't feel anything. Pain, joy, anger.

Because of her.

Murderer.

You killed him.

Your only friend.

You're a monster.

The door flew open again, and Katherine instinctively sat up. Her body protested the sudden movement, but she held back any sign of discomfort as the Lipstick Woman entered her room with a wooden bowl and cup in hand.

"I'm sure you worked up quite an appetite," she said with a mocking smile on her ugly lips.

With the image of Merrill's bleeding body fresh in her mind and the lye lingering in her lungs, eating was the last thing Katherine wanted to do. But she dared not contradict this intimidating woman, so she took the cup and bowl without protest. The bowl held what looked like a watery soup, and the cup was filled with cloudy water.

"Don't go wasting any of it, now," the Lipstick Woman said.

Katherine nodded, holding back a wince as she upset the cut in her head.

The Lipstick Woman narrowed her eyes before giving a sniff and turning to leave. Again, Katherine was plunged into darkness, with only a sliver of light peeking through the crack under the door to illuminate the stained floor of the room.

Despite her lack of appetite, Katherine balanced the bowl on her lap and set the cup on the floor. She hesitated, wondering how she was expected to eat without utensils.

Like the animal you are.

Clenching her jaw and ignoring the voice's insult, she lifted the bowl to her lips and slurped the soupy substance it held. Her mother would have been aghast at her lack of manners. Then again, her mother had always been disappointed with her, no matter what she did. Probably even more so now.

When the food hit her tongue, she nearly gagged at the texture. It was lumpy and tasteless and most certainly not soup as she had assumed before. Pulling the bowl away, she did her best to keep the vile substance from coming back up. It required great concentration, but by some miracle, the food stayed down.

Was she really expected to eat all of this? Her stomach gave a sickly growl at the thought of ingesting any more.

Setting aside the bowl to let her nausea settle, she took up the cup of water and sipped at it nervously, half-expecting something just as disgusting as the soupy concoction. Despite the odd flavor, it was a far cry from the slop bubbling in her stomach. And it was refreshing after all the physical work she'd done.

It didn't take long to drain the cup, and once it was empty, she tried the watery porridge again. Though it was a struggle, she managed to eat the rest. She regretted finishing off the water so quickly, as the sensation of the pasty muck stuck to her tongue and the roof of her mouth. Pushing the bowl and cup towards the door, she again curled up on the mattress.

Was it night already? Had an entire day truly gone by since the incident in the kitchen? Though the memory was still an open wound, it felt like ages ago. It all seemed so far away. Her home. Her family.

Staring into the darkness, her mind played through that horrifying scene once more. The wolf. The knife. The blood. The screams. How could she not have realized it was Merrill? How had she not seen her beloved brother standing before her? Trying to help her. Console her.

Murderer.

Tears spilled from her eyes, adding to the stains that were already on the mattress. Her brother was gone. Dead. The only person in the world who loved her was dead.

All because of her.

The pain in her body slowly faded into a dull numbness. She almost missed it. She deserved the pain. Every cut and bruise. She deserved it all after what she'd done. She'd destroyed her family. She'd destroyed her brother.

So why should she herself not be destroyed?

You should've ended yourself years ago.

Then none of this would have happened.

They were right. They'd always been right. Why hadn't she listened?

Pressing her face against the mattress to smother a sob, she dug her nails into her arms, desperate for some sort of punishment. She deserved this. She deserved all of this. She deserved worse.

Amidst the tears and guilt, she heard screams from outside her door. They were distant and muffled. Were they real? Or in her head? Perhaps it was one of the other patients. Was she the only one here who saw things? Surely she was the only one who had killed a precious sibling. No one else could be as wicked as she was. No one here deserved to be locked away more than she did.

All the crying must have worn out her battered body. After a while, she began to drift off into a state between sleep and consciousness. Her heavy limbs felt suddenly weightless, as if she could almost float up to the ceiling. It was a strange sensation, nearly pleasant. But there was something about it she didn't like. A lack of control. A sense of helplessness. Was her body giving up? Was she dying?

How wonderful that would be.