She'd lost count of how many times she'd recited her brother's song, but when the door to her room finally flew open, her throat was sore and strained. Her head shot up as light spilled into her tiny cell, and she found the Lipstick Woman towering over her.

The crumb-covered corner of the woman's mouth twitched as she set her gaze on Katherine. "It seems you're in need of more extensive treatment," she said quietly.

The calmness in her voice sent goose pimples down Katherine's arms. "I didn't mean—"

Grabbing hold of her wrist, the Lipstick Woman pulled her up, nearly wrenching her shoulder from its socket. "If your episodes can't be managed through good hard work, then we must resort to other methods. Now stop dragging your feet before I call Clarence to give me a hand."

Despite her growing panic, Katherine followed the large woman through the hallways until they came to a door she'd never seen before. It was different from the ones that led to the patients' rooms. This one was green. And in far better condition than the others.

The Lipstick Woman unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing a set of rickety wooden stairs. Katherine hesitated as she stared into the poorly lit stairwell, her mind racing with all sorts of horrifying images of what waited for her down there.

Screams echoed in her head.

Sobs.

Voices begging for mercy.

Cackling laughter.

"Stop dilly-dallying," the Lipstick Woman snapped, moving down the stairs and dragging her along.

Katherine nearly tripped over the uneven steps, saved only by the cruel orderly's tight grip on her wrist. When they reached the bottom, Katherine steadied herself and brushed back her tangled hair to get a better look at the room.

It appeared to be a condensed version of a hospital. At least it certainly smelled like one. The mixture of strong chemicals and drugs made her head swim, similar to the cloudy water she was forced to drink every night. A large metal table was in the center of the room, equipped with cracked leather restraints. It gripped Katherine's heart with fear. Jars filled with powders and liquids sat in an open dresser where a gangly gentleman stood, measuring out a white substance into a glass container of water.

Glancing over his shoulder, he set his eyes on Katherine for a brief moment before turning his gaze to the Lipstick Woman. "Do you need the Jar?" he asked.

"Not just yet," the Lipstick Woman replied. "We'll see if a nice bath won't settle her mind first."

The gentleman sniffed, his mustache twitching slightly, before returning to his work. Katherine watched as he continued to combine the powder and water, stirring it lazily with a long metal spoon. Was he a doctor? Were there actual doctors in this place? If he was a doctor, why didn't he do something to stop the orderlies from treating them so terribly? Surely as a medical professional, he wanted what was best for his patients?

"Quit staring, you cheeky slattern," the Lipstick Woman said, pulling Katherine through another doorway. "Maybe a good drenching will keep those filthy eyes from wandering."

She shoved Katherine towards a rusted tub in the middle of the tiny room. There was little else inside. A small metal table. A sink and pump. Several dented buckets.

And rope. Lots and lots of rope.

"Strip," the Lipstick Woman said as she locked the door and made her way to what looked like a very beaten-up icebox.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Katherine swallowed and stammered, "Pardon?"

"You heard me. Get out of that dress. Or are you so helpless that you need assistance, princess?"

Not wanting the vicious woman's clammy hands and sharp nails touching her body, Katherine quickly complied. She'd lost so much weight that the rough piece of fabric practically fell from her form when she slid it off her shoulders. With the dress pooled about her feet, she did her best to cover her nakedness. She hadn't seen herself in the light in what felt like ages. It took everything not to wince at the sight of the dark bruises and infected cuts, most of which had come from the orderlies.

The Lipstick Woman turned back to her and looked her up and down. A gruff laugh burst from her lips as she shook her head. "Chicken-breasted little thing, aren't you? Don't go thinking you'll get the good doctor's steed all in a dither with those unripe fruits. I'm sure he has better taste than that."

Heat crawled up the back of Katherine's neck. She couldn't understand half of what the unseemly woman had said, but she wasn't so daft as to misinterpret the gist of it. What a ridiculous accusation. Romance and licentious engagements were the last things on her mind in this prison.

"Right, then," the Lipstick Woman went on. She pointed at the tub. "Get in."

Not wanting to incite any more insults or abuse, Katherine hurried to obey. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad. She hadn't had a bath since coming to the asylum. However long ago that was. Somewhere along the line, she'd lost track of time. For all she knew, years had passed since the incident back home. In the kitchen. With the knife. With—

The frigid water chased away the haunted memories. Katherine was thankful for it even as she gasped, the bitter cold enveloping every inch of her body the further she sank into the tub. Why was it so cold? Could they not afford some wood to warm it? Or were the patients not worth a few scraps of kindling?

"Hands on the sides," the Lipstick Woman barked.

Slowly, Katherine removed her trembling hands from the water and gripped the rim of the tub. The air bit at her wet skin, and she clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering.

"Hold still," the Lipstick Woman said as she tied up Katherine's wrists.

"What are you doing?" Katherine asked.

"I said hold still."

The rough woman threaded the rope through a metal loop attached to the side of the tub and pulled it tight. Katherine flinched as the force wrenched her arm into an unnatural position. But she dared not breathe a complaint as the orderly proceeded to repeat the process on the other arm.

With a heavy sigh, the Lipstick Woman gave a terse nod and dusted off her smock. "Good. Now don't go anywhere."

She turned away to fetch something in the corner, and if Katherine hadn't been so cold, she might've laughed at the absurdity of the woman's words. How exactly was she supposed to go anywhere? Between the icy water and the rope, she could hardly find the strength to sit upright.

"We'll just get this all set up."

The Lipstick Woman returned, placing a large wooden pallet over her and securing it in place. It covered almost the entire length of the tub, leaving space only for her head. A slight panic began to claw at Katherine's chest as she realized how trapped she was.

"Why are all of these restraints necessary?" she asked, covertly testing the hold the ropes had on her wrists. Blast, that woman was good with knots.

"To keep you from trying to escape your treatment. Sit up straight, now."

Before Katherine could make sense of what was happening, the Lipstick Woman dumped a bucketful of ice chunks through the slats in the pallet, and as they hit the already-freezing water, a new burst of pain spread through Katherine's body. She let out a strangled gasp and fought against the ropes.

"Enough of that," the wicked orderly snapped, whacking Katherine over the head with the now-empty bucket. "You'll splash all over the floor."

The woman's words hardly registered as Katherine continued to gasp, suddenly unable to take in enough air. It was like a thousand tiny needles were stabbing at her body, stealing her breath and her senses.

"We'll give you a few hours in there, see if we can't set your mind straight."

The Lipstick Woman's voice sounded miles away, all distorted and muffled. With every labored breath, Katherine's sight started to blur. Even the voices faded into the background, their words a jumble of wordless noise. All she could concentrate on was the cold.

So much cold.

Frigid, biting cold.

Seeping through her skin. Into her veins. Down to her bones.

Until she could have sworn her entire body was made up of ice.

~

She wasn't sure how many hours passed as she sat in that tub, but by the time the Lipstick Woman returned, Katherine couldn't feel her hands or feet.

"Well, hopefully we've cleansed you of all that violence pent up inside of you," the horrible woman said as she removed the pallet and began to untie the rope around Katherine's wrists. "If not, we can always arrange for another nice soak."

"No," Katherine managed to stammer, her lips trembling too violently to form any other word.

The Lipstick Woman chuckled and lifted her out of the water. "Let's see how long this compliance lasts, then. Get dressed. You have work to do in the kitchen."

She set Katherine on her feet and let her go, but Katherine's extremities were so excruciatingly numb she couldn't hold herself up on her own and collapsed to the floor.

"Get up, you lazy brat. Or do I need to throw you back in there?"

With the threat of more time spent in that ice-cold prison, Katherine grasped the side of the tub with fingers she couldn't feel and somehow managed to pull herself upright. The Lipstick Woman offered no assistance but simply stood there and held out Katherine's crumpled and stained dress. She took it and slowly slipped it back on, grateful for even a scrap of fabric to help stave off the chill that had settled in her bones. It was a short-lived relief, though, as the water that clung to her skin and hair quickly soaked through the dress and seemed to add to the unbearable cold.

"Come on, we haven't got all day," the Lipstick Woman said, taking hold of Katherine's arm and tugging her out into the room with the metal table.

The mustachioed doctor wasn't there anymore, but Katherine didn't care. What good was he anyhow? He'd watched the Lipstick Woman drag her into that awful room and hadn't raised a finger to help. What sort of doctor allowed such cruelty?

It was agony walking up those wooden stairs. Every joint and muscle screamed in pain as the feeling slowly came back into her body and the blood started to circulate once more. She dared not utter a cry, though, not only for fear of further "treatments," but also from a stubborn refusal to let these people see her weep.

"Breakfast better not be late," the Lipstick Woman said when they at last reached the kitchen. She gave Katherine a smirk as she pulled open the door. "Or else I'll think you haven't yet learned your lesson."

Katherine didn't meet the woman's eye but instead stumbled into the kitchen, her gaze trained on the stone floor. When the door clicked shut, her muscles relaxed slightly. However, this made standing on her frozen limbs all the more difficult, and she would have fallen had Tory not reached out and helped support her.

"Come over by the fire," she whispered, casting a wary glance at the orderly assigned to supervise them.

The heat of the flames was both a godsend and curse, as the more her body warmed up, the more excruciating was the pain radiating from her bones. Tory took her hands in her own and gently rubbed them. Though the gesture only caused more discomfort, Katherine was grateful for the tender touch of a caring human being.

"Let me guess: ice bath?" Tory asked.

Still unable to move her tongue properly, Katherine simply nodded.

Sighing, Tory dropped Katherine's hands and began wringing out her wet hair. "I don't know what brilliant doctor decided freezing us to death would make us behave. I mean, maybe it does for a little while. At least until our bodies thaw out."

Katherine's only response was chattering teeth. After a moment or two of trying to help warm her up, Tory went to collect the ingredients for the gruel. She didn't speak a word as she measured out the flour and salt, tossing it all into the large pot and then hurrying off to the scullery to fetch the water.

After the fourth bucketful, Katherine was able to work her mouth enough to ask in a muffled, trembling voice, "Is she all right?"

Tory furrowed her brow as she set the empty bucket down. "Is who all right?"

"The girl. The girl from the hallway. She . . . she was wash . . . washing the floors with me . . . an . . . and when he threw the water . . ."

The tremors became too violent to continue, but understanding seemed to dawn on Tory, as her eyes widened and her mouth fell open in disbelief. "One of the orderlies threw lye at a patient?"

Body twitching, Katherine nodded and breathed out, "It was me . . . me . . . meant for me . . ."

"My word, it's a miracle you're in one piece."

"The girl."

"Oh, right. So another girl got hit with the lye?"

Katherine nodded, her lungs exhausted from the work it took to breathe.

"Where?"

Lifting a trembling finger, Katherine tapped her face.

Tory winced and shook her head. "There'll be no coming back from that. She'll be scarred for life. And that's assuming she survives."

Katherine's heart sank in her frozen chest, and she stared helplessly into the fire. If she survived? No, that wasn't fair. She hadn't been the intended target. The punishment hadn't been for her. She hadn't been the one to spill lye on the Ape Man. It was Katherine's fault. It was all her fault.

Everything's your fault.

"For her sake, I hope she dies," Tory went on, lifting the large pot with great effort on her own and setting it over the fire. "Never mind the humiliation of living with such a deformed face, but imagine the pain. I doubt she'd be able to eat properly. Better to perish now than starve later."

Starve? No. No, that wasn't right. It should have been her.

"At least she'll finally escape this pit," Tory said, stirring the pot as she spoke.

It should have been her.

"I swear, the only way out of Elysium is death."

It should have been her.

"Well, death and a heroic rescue by a handsome beau."

"It should have been me," Katherine whispered.

Tory paused her stirring. "What?"

"It should have been me," Katherine said louder, lifting her head to meet Tory's gaze. "The lye was meant for me. I should be the one deformed. I should be the one who starves. I'm the one who should die."

Utter despair broke through her frozen state and gripped her heart, cutting off her air and causing her to gasp for her every breath. Tory abandoned her work and wrapped her arms around her, holding her close. But it did no good. Even the warmth of her dry body couldn't pull Katherine back to reality. Shadows began to close in. The voices laughed in absolute delight at her suffering while that spiral of self-loathing continued on in her head:

This was her fault.

It was always her fault.

She should be the one to die.

Not that girl.

Not Merrill.

Her.

She should have killed herself years ago.

Why hadn't she listened?

Why had she selfishly tried to stay alive?

"Katherine," Tory whispered into her ear, "you need to calm yourself or else they'll send you back for more treatments."

No. Not another ice bath. She couldn't handle that. Not again.

But what right did she have to evade such punishment? She was bad. She was wicked. She was at fault. She deserved it.

They should send her back to the tub.

For hours.

Days.

In fact, they should hold her head under the water until every bit of air was gone from her lungs.

She deserved to die.

She deserved to die a thousand times over.

"What is the matter with her?"

A sharp, high-pitched voice found its way through her deafening thoughts. Someone yanked her from Tory's embrace, and she was forced to face the orderly who normally watched over them with careless indifference. Her bright green eyes darted over every inch of Katherine's body, as though searching for something physically wrong with her.

"She burnt herself on the pot," Tory said. "Nothing serious. I can patch her up in no time."

But the orderly wasn't convinced. Perhaps it was the lack of a burn or the way Katherine shook from her unuttered sobs and ice that refused to leave her bones. The orderly sniffed and turned to pull open the door.

"Assistance needed!" she hollered into the hallway.

Tory grabbed hold of Katherine again, her wild eyes desperate. "Katherine, you need to get a hold of yourself. They'll punish you more. Stop panicking."

Katherine shook her head, her face aching from the unshed tears building up inside of her. "It's my fault, it's all my fault. I deserve it, I deserve all of it."

"No, Katheri—"

"What's the trouble?" asked the Lipstick Woman as she entered the room.

The supervising orderly gestured to Katherine with a sneer. "This one. Just started having a fit. Not sure what got into her."

The Lipstick Woman heaved a dramatic sigh and rolled her eyes. "I knew the ice bath wouldn't be enough. Very well, let's see if some time alone will set you straight."

Katherine didn't resist as the repulsive woman dragged her away from Tory's worried grip and back out into the hallway. What was the point? It didn't matter. She deserved any punishment they subjected her to. All the pain. All the torture. She deserved it all.

She only hoped whatever "treatment" they gave her next would finally put an end to her useless, worthless life.

~

Such sweet relief was not to be hers. Instead, Katherine was dragged back down those rickety stairs and thrown into a room even smaller than the tub room. Windowless and without a mattress or threadbare blanket, the only objects to be found within were four chains and manacles attached to the walls.

"I suggest," said the Lipstick Woman, tightening the restraints around Katherine's wrists and ankles, "you take this time to engage in some quiet reflection on how to better your corrupt mind. Perhaps pray that this will fix your wicked ways. Otherwise, we'll have to resort to something a tad harsher."

The metal dug into Katherine's skin, but she bit back a whimper, knowing this was what she deserved. She deserved worse. She deserved death.

Oh, please, just let her die.

The door slammed closed, pitching her into darkness. It was quite like her own room. Smaller. Without any light, the size didn't really matter. But it was colder. Much colder. Or maybe that was the lingering effects of the ice bath? And the restraints were rather painful, especially as her limbs returned to their normal temperature. The metal chafed and rubbed against her skin every time she shifted. Not that she could do too much moving. The chains were short and kept her firmly in a single uncomfortable position.

It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

She deserved this.

For what she did to that girl.

And her family.

And Merrill.

Monster.

The voices were right. She was a monster. A murderous, irredeemable monster.

She deserved to die.

She had to die.

Please, let her find some way to die.

~

The absence of time was perhaps more torturous than the deep cuts forming on her now swollen wrists. The more the manacles dug in, the tighter they became, embedding themselves deeper and deeper into her skin.

It was even worse than the blood pouring down the walls. It had started as a trickle, somehow visible in the pitch dark. And then another trickle, stronger than the first. Then a third. Soon, all four walls were covered in thick, red blood that spilled down to the floor and came together to form a tiny pond. The feel of the warm liquid between her toes brought back memories of Merrill's blood on her hands, and she could almost hear his cries of pain as he called out her name.

Yes, not knowing how long she'd been down there in that isolated cell was worse than anything Elysium or her own mind could inflict upon her. Had she been here for hours? Days? Weeks? How much longer would she remain here? Would they let her starve to death here? Or would they insist on keeping her alive to "treat" her broken mind further?

But what did it matter, anyhow? Time meant nothing in this place. It wasn't as if she could count down the days until she returned home. She had no home to return to. Her family would never have her. And who else was there? No one wanted a mad little murderer who couldn't die properly. Time didn't matter. Not here. Not to her.

So why was not knowing making her restless?

"Ah, poor bird, take thy flight," she began to mutter to herself, rocking back and forth in a desperate attempt to distract herself from the building panic, "above the sorrows of this sad night."

How dare you?

She nearly choked on the next stanza as the familiar voice echoed through the room.

How dare you sing our song?

Tremors ran through her body, but this time it wasn't from the ice bath.

You're a murderer. A monster.

Gasping for breath, she looked about the tiny cell, searching for him. Was he here? How could he be here?

You belong here.

"Merrill?" she whimpered.

How could you?

How could you?

"How could you?"

A scream escaped her lips as that final question was whispered in her ear, so solid and near she was sure he was standing right behind her. But as she clenched her teeth together and turned to find him, there was nothing.

Except a single kitchen knife lying in a puddle of blood.

Another scream tried to force its way out of her body, but she clenched her jaw tighter.

He couldn't be here.

He couldn't be anywhere.

Because of her.

All because of her.

~

When the door finally swung open, Katherine couldn't move. She was half-lying on the floor, kept slightly upright by the chains attached to her wrists, which were now covered in blood—whether imagined or her own, she didn't know. Nor did she care.

"Well aren't you a sorry mess?" the Lipstick Woman said as she stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips as she stared at Katherine with utter disgust.

Katherine's body twitched in response, and she drew in a trembling breath, her voice raw from all the screaming.

Heaving an exasperated sigh, the Lipstick Woman entered the room and stooped down to unlock the manacles clasped about Katherine's wrists and ankles. "I guess we'll need a few more treatments after all."

~

The first round of treatments was agonizing. The ice baths, the isolation room, the various drugs injected into her body. Day after day, the same torture over and over, her only relief being the hard labor she was still forced to perform. It came to a point that she longed for her lonely cell of a room where the only hands grabbing at her were the imaginary ones in her head.

The treatments didn't help. Not the baths or the beatings or the drugs. Of course they didn't. Katherine wasn't sure the doctors and orderlies truly believed they would work. They were just a means by which to control her. To strike fear into her heart. To remind her of who was in charge.

Rather than help to quell the voices and the hallucinations and the gloom, these treatments only made them worse. She was constantly harassed by her demons, and the weakened state in which the daily torture left her made it hard to maintain her senses. She became clumsy, disconnected, easily spooked.

And more suicidal than ever before.

Everything in her sight held potential as a means to her end. The bucket of burning lye. The fire in the kitchen hearth. The solid walls of her own room.

But even with the spiders and snakes and rats and disembodied voices sending her into a spiral of madness, she still had enough sense to know such outlandish attempts would only result in her enduring horrific procedures to keep her alive. If she was going to kill herself, she had to be quiet and subtle about it.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

Katherine gave her head a quick shake and tore her attention away from the bowl of gruel in front of her and set it on Tory standing beside her in the kitchen. The wild-eyed girl furrowed her brow as she gazed at Katherine suspiciously.

"Sorry," Katherine said, running her hands up and down her arms. "I haven't been very hungry as of late."

"Ah, right. The treatments. They're still at it?"

"Seems like they'll never end."

Tory loaded her spoon up with a rather lumpy bit of gruel. "They won't, especially if you keep having fits like you do."

Katherine hunched her shoulders and shot Tory a resentful glare. "I don't exactly have control over my condition."

"Really? Then how did you go so many years without anyone knowing? Well, aside from your mother and beau."

An unexpected shudder ran down Katherine's spine at the mention of her "beau."

"You have to make them think you're being cooperative," Tory said, lowering her voice so the supervising orderly couldn't hear. "Even if, in reality, you're plotting your revenge."

She flashed a wicked smile and popped a spoonful of gruel into her mouth. Katherine glanced down at her own bowl and let out a soft breath. Make them think you're being cooperative. Tory was right. She was good at doing that. Hiding her true self. After all, she'd lived with her family for sixteen years without them ever seeing the person she really was. The bitter, stubborn, depressed girl she was. No one knew that side of her.

Not even Merrill.

Her stomach clenched at the memory of his voice whispering into her ear every night. Haunting her. Blaming her. Torturing her.

The resentment of her dead brother was worse than any sort of treatment Elysium could think up. She couldn't withstand a lifetime of that harassment, deserved or not. No, she couldn't go on like this.

"I think I'm going to go eat by the fire," Katherine said as she collected her bowl from the kitchen table. "There's a chill in my bones I just can't seem to shake."

"The ice baths will do that," Tory said, barely sparing her a glance. "Maybe one of these days they'll warm you up with a little electricity."

Katherine moved towards the crackling fire as Tory laughed to herself. Standing before the ash-filled hearth, she stared into the flames and ignored the voices as they tried to persuade her to throw herself into them. That wouldn't work. It would only end with her being at the mercy of that cowardly mustachioed doctor downstairs. No, Tory was right. She had to pretend to cooperate. It was the only chance she had to escape this miserable existence. She had to be quiet. Subtle. Her demise had to be unassuming and ordinary.

Patience. She had to have patience if she wanted to die.

Glancing over her shoulder to be sure the orderly was still preoccupied with her book, Katherine quickly dumped the contents of her bowl into the fire. The flames licked up the gruel with a sinister sizzle, and she feigned a coughing attack to cover up the sound. Tory turned to her with an inquisitive frown, but Katherine merely gave a half-hearted shrug and again faced the hearth. Already the evidence had been reduced to blackened lumps.

She took a steady breath, her fingers twitching as dozens of tiny spiders crawled up her dress and scurried along her beaten and bruised skin. Subtle and quiet. Unassuming and ordinary.

Yes, her death would be much like her life had been. Only so much more satisfying.