I own nothing, just this piece of fiction. Feel free to give thoughts and comments!

"Fire purges and purifies, scatters our enemies to the wind. What blows away need not be explained."

-Fiona Goode

You had always been allowed very little freedom in this world. It seemed as if you were nothing but a rag doll for people to wrangle and use to their liking and then leave you, tattered and bare, for the next person who deemed you useful until they did the same, and the cycle would go on.

When you weren't being used you were always confined by something. For most of your life, it had been the care of your religiously confused aunt, who believed that discipline and brutality would keep you grounded and worthy of the Lord's affections --whether it was a Catholic lord, Lutheran, Baptist, or any other she was devout to at the time, the slightest disobediance to his word would get a belt on your back. It didn't help that you were a natural wanderer, and a particularly stubborn one.

Your last day at Briarcliff Manor began with a faint beam of light casting out the darkness in your cell that swallowed you each night. The padded door of your cell unlatched and opened, revealing Frank, the head guard. He lifted you to your feet, hauling your shuddering form out of the patient's quarters, through the cackling and caterwauling of the other patients. It was earlier than the usual time the patients are awoken, you realized, as no one else was let out of their room. You remembered hearing him say something about Sister Jude's office and you searched your memory for the crime so horrible the sister insisted on punishing you for so early in the morning. Your stomach tightened in dread the farther Frank dragged you up Jude's "stairway to heaven", readying yourself for the all too familiar sting of a leather cane biting your ass.

The previous night had been your fourth electroshock therapy session that left you a drooling puddle of convulsions and shudders. Your limbs had turned to noodles, your brain to mush. You spent half of the night crouched on your stale mattress, writhing on pulsing muscles that spasmed with each pump of fresh electricity running through your veins.

Your horrendous and hell sent -- as the Monsignor liked to call it-- ability to play with fire, caused you to be the feistiest and most feared of all the patients. Everyone in the institution looked at you as though you had horns; as though you were the devil himself. The rare and brief times when you were allowed out of your cell, the nuns would clutch their rosaries, averting their eyes from yours in fear of being caught in flames from a look.

You were the only patient without a mental illness, yet your so called treatment was no doubt the most brutal. In just a month, you had been subject to all types of torture good old Briarcliff had to offer -- from being the literal tail end of Sister Jude's beloved canes, to occasional electro shock, on top of the excorsism you were greeted with the day of your arrival at Briarcliff. It was easy to assume that your aunt had left you at some medieval prison. The only friends you had made in the month you had been here were the rats who claimed most of the cell for their own --and, when you weren't quick enough, your meals, that were sloppily served and slid in under your door twice a day.

The click of the door opening to the sister's office came with the same jolt of terror it always had, but this time it multiplied. You thought of the sharp glare in Sister Jude's eyes that could do almost as much damage as her canes and you panicked. You weren't sure how much more your body could take. To your suprise, though, when you entered the dull room of browns and greys, Sister Jude was seated at her desk with folded hands, watching Frank drag you over to a chair facing her desk, sitting you down. There was a moment of silence, and Sister Jude smirked at your puzzled, hazy eyes that searched for a cane. Then she spoke.

"Not quite the picture you're used to seeing, is it?" She laughed in her throat. Her eyes were cruel, but weren't pointed at you with their usual daggers. "I understand you'd probably like more rest given your treatment not many hours ago." You winced, inwardly, at how she said 'treatment'. Her tone was almost teasing, as if your suffering had taken place solely for her entertainment.

" Why am I here, Sister?" You slurred the best you could. It was the first time you had tried to speak since your electroshock. You glared at her, trying to match her eyes with enough conviction.

Her demeanor had changed completely and she bowed her head momentarily, as though she was about to say something damaging. She stood up slowly, rounding her desk to lean back on it on front of you. "Have you ever met anyone else with your ability?" Her lower tone hinted she was getting to the point of your visit.

Your eyes shifted from her face to the whispers of dawn creeping through the windows. You remained silent, unsure how to respond. You never thought of the possibility of not being the only pyromaniac in the world. You shifted as best you could in your straitjacket, having little balance with your arms restricted. Being forced to wear this everyday reminded you of the much smaller one your aunt had purchased when you were no more then five, when the curtains caught in flames after you yanked them down in anger. From then on whatever unpleasant mood you were in set fire to anything you touched. Your aunt had made sure you learned the hard way that an insatiable hellion would not be tolerated in a house of Christ.

"I have." She continued, "There have been many like you." She looked past you, as if reliving a memory. "You're quite the talk of the country. Footage of the Monsignor's leg caught in flames during your excorcism has made the news, as you probably know." She sat up straighter, clasping her hands in her lap. She began to sound like a lawyer, making a verdict against a criminal and you felt a pang of unease, "Naturally, when things get out like this, all sorts of people are bound to see, as it is no longer the secret your aunt had hoped to keep hidden. Which brings me to why I sent for you so early." She rounded back to her desk, again, and looked you straight in the eye.

"There is an academy in Louisiana that houses young girls with similar.." she paused, licking her lips, "defects, like yourself. I understand it has been progressive since the colonies. It educates young women on their abnormalities, coaching them on self control in which they learn to function properly in society." You stared at her blankly, your fingers fiddling with the inside fabric of your straitjacket. Your mind took each word at a time, tracing a path to where this was going. "The administrators of this school," Sister Jude continued, "were of the many who saw the broadcast." Her wrinkled fingers unfolded a peace of paper that was tucked into a folder at the side of the desk, before retaking her seat. You could barely see through the thin paper, words from top to bottom, ending with a dark signiture at the bottom in exaggerated cursive. Jude scanned over, what you assumed was, the letter, setting it in front of her. Your eyes focused on the signature: "M. Snow".

" Your admittance here has only caused commotion and damage. Accusations and threats have been made against Briarcliff since the incident, and, frankly, I'm not sure if you will hold out much longer if the Monsignor continues to look for a cure for something I'm not sure is curable." Despite her usual cold stare, you thought for a moment that you saw bits of sympathy in the Sister's eyes when she looked at you. The mixed emotion and troubles in her eyes made her seem, daresay, human. Your aggravation molded into confusion at her next words. "The head of the council of the Acamemy has agreed to travel to Massachusetts. She is waiting outside as we speak, with a car that will take you to the airport where you are to set off for New Orleans at 5:00." All the words seemed to have filtered out of you brain at that moment, but she wasn't done, "I assume you understand what is taking place, so if there is no confusion, Frank here, will escort you out in no more than five minutes. You'll know well what I mean when I say there better not be any funny buisness once you're out there."

You turned back behind you to Frank, then to Jude, then back to the window that shone with more morning light. It slowly became clear what danger she as head of Briarcliff was getting herself into, sending you to a place that claimed to encourage your 'defect'. "Does... doesn't this go against everything you stand for Sister?" You asked shakily.

"Despite the Monsignor's efforts to make this a holy institution, there is nothing godly about this place. There was evil within these walls long before you arrived." You remained tense, still in a well of confusion. At your silence, she sighed, continuing, "You don't belong here, (Y/N). I know that much. Where you're going, I feel, will do more good for both you and Briarcliff."

You couldn't tell if she was speaking from her mind or the letter. It still wasn't clear. What was her motive? Did the Monsignor know or agree to this? You couldn't pinpoint whether this was out of subtle generosity or fear. You quickly lost any care of all possible reasons as you began to grasp what was about to happen: you were getting out of here. "Sister --"

"Are we going through with this, or are you going continue your stay here?" Jude snapped, visably irritated and in a hurry, "There is no more time to waste."

Sister Jude did not lag. Within minutes, Frank had released you from your straitjacket, making you feel like a baby learning for the first time how to use it's arms, Sister Jude had thrown onto you a dark green, slightly dusty jacket, and you were out the door, your lungs taking in the familiar fresh air they had been deprived of for weeks. You then looked ahead of you, taking in the sight of a tall, bright colored cloaked woman with orange sprouting from her head -- a major contrast from the dark, lifeless colors that filled Briarcliff. She came closer into view as Frank pulled you closer towards the car that seemed to just be a gateway from one asylum to another.