Disclaimer: Don't own SSM; never have, never will. Don't own the chars, don't own Ravenscroft. Nothin'. I do, however, own Mary/Memory. At least, I think I do.

A/N: This was based off a dream I had after several hours of SSM, Coke, and various sugary sweets. I hate to be interrupted by an idea that simply won't go away, but this one was too good not to write. That, and the plot bunny would not quit biting me. So, I wrote it up in about an hour. I may or may not continue this, I just wanted to get it down. Opinions, maybe?

There was a new arrival that day. There always seemed to be new arrivals here at Ravenscroft Asylum. It was a holding pen, a place to temporarily stash the minor criminals. People seemed to come and go as fast as their merry feet could hit the floor. Oh, sure, they came into the rehabilitation center kicking and screaming – if not physically, then mentally for sure. It seemed to be the same way for this new one as well.

Glancing up from the morning paper Doctor Kafka had given me earlier, I spotted the new arrival, and felt myself tense.

The guards were dragging a fiery haired, soaking wet woman down the corridor. Despite her cuffed hands and chained feet, she was still fighting. I moved closer to the door of my cell, curious as to the reason why this woman was here. This was a place for the criminally insane, for people like me. There was also the issue that this asylum normally dealt with criminally insane men, but that would remain left unsaid. It wasn't until they approached that I could hear her voice – quiet, persistent, despite how violently she struggled.

"I'm innocent, I swear to you. I'm not crazy; I'm not. I didn't do it. You have to believe me. I didn't kill him!" She raised her head, glanced at the guard closest to me. When he showed no sympathy, simply ignored her, her head slumped dejectedly. But, just for a second, her eyes met mine.

There was insanity hidden there, back beyond those doe-like eyes. A subtle hint of madness restrained by beautiful innocence. They drew my curiosity to him like a moth to the flame. I took a step forwards, wrapped my hand around one of the bars.

Wordlessly, the guards stopped in front of the cell diagonal from mine. They unlocked the cuffs around her wrists, took the chains from around her ankles. The man to her right released her arm to open the cell, stepping forwards in order to open it. Upon realizing that she was no longer surrounded, she took off.

The noisy slapping of bare feet on cold tile alerted the guards to her flight, and they were quickly upon her. Like hounds to the fox, they gave chase, eventually cornered her before my cell. She backed away, until she could go no farther. Her back hit the bars.

"It wasn't me." She clutched the bars so tight her knuckles turned white. "I didn't kill him. I couldn't have..."

Carefully, I moved. I reached over, brushed my hand lightly over hers. Despite the stiffening of her spine, I leaned over to whisper in her ear, "Word of advice, my dear, do as they say. It would be such a shame for something to happen to a woman such as yourself."

She looked over her shoulder, gifted me with another glance of those hazel orbs. "My name is Memory." She said; her next words were a plea to pierce even my cold soul. "Don't let me forget it."

Before I could properly process the burden that had been placed upon my shoulders, the hounds lunged. Their paws grabbed her arms; they snatched her forwards. Her fingers slipped from the bars. Though she put forward no effort, still they held on tight. I knew their grips would put bruises upon her ivory skin. I had to hold back a scoff.

So much for chivalry.

They locked her in that cell, tossing her in there as if she was trash, and left. Despite their stoic silence the entire time, both began to speak the moment the trembling woman was locked away.

"…in here for murder. Strangled that Jackson guy."

"That little thing?" The second sounded skeptical.

"I hear she's a mutant."

"You hear?"

The guard shrugged as he opened the door. "Haven't seen any proof."

They left then, with the door shutting and locking automatically behind them. I then shifted my attention to the woman whom this attention was all about. She was curled up in the corner, those eyes terrified. But, when she saw me looking at her, something changed. Carefully, the woman who had dubbed herself "Memory" stood. Walking to the door, sauntering over to the bars, she leaned against them.

No longer did those hazel orbs hide their madness. Now, the insanity was out for everyone to see. The very feral smile that formed on her lips only enhanced that quality.

"Memory?" I questioned. I wanted to know the story behind that name. Was that her true name, or was that the codename this little criminal, despite her plea of innocence, had taken on?

She simply grinned, though. "No," she purred; I could hear every single occupant of this hall attempt to peek through the bars of his cell to see her, "My name's Mary. Y tu?"

"Call me Octopus."

HFG: So, yeah. BTW, Mary/Memory has a mental disorder. She's legally insane. And she's also in Ravenscroft for a reason. I'm tempted to make this into a full-out story. Let me know whatcha think, kay?