They called it the Canopy Kingdom Psychiatric Hospital, but to everyone residing there it was an asylum.
Granted, it wasn't the worst place for such a varied collection of oddities to live. It was really more the principle of the thing that bothered the patients. After all, if they were going to be classified as insane for their problems they at least refused to be patronised.
They definitely had enough problems without all the condescending compassion.
The Canopy Kingdom Asylum also possessed a small children's ward. Only a handful of kids occupied the wing, which was closed off from the rest of the hospital with a curtain wall. Not much actually went on between the children. None of them were very close, and most preferred the company of the adult patients.
This was very much the case for Marie Korbel.
She, in fact, enjoyed conversing with the other inhabitants more than any other her age. It seemed, at least to her, that the minds of most contained were not nearly as fractured as they were expected to be.
Either that, or her own psyche was so torn that the mad seemed, to her, perfectly rational.
It was a distinct possibility.
This didn't seem to be the case, though, at least not to her. Marie sometimes thought that perhaps madness was something that even the mad couldn't understand properly. Maybe that was the harsh reality of her life.
Whether this was the case or not, the outside society had deemed her and her peers mentally unfit, and here they were.
If only they knew….
But they couldn't. The ordinary denizens of the Canopy Kingdom would never know what it was to hear voices without sound. They would never face the uncertain reality of their fractured sanity. They would never suffer under an unknown entity who most definitely was not only in her head-
She paused.
Now she had done it, gone back yet again to a chapter in her life she'd have given anything to forget.
Unfortunately, she had long come to terms with how impossible that wish was.
Her brain throbbed, thoughts and memories scattering themselves to the tempest. A presence loomed somewhere in the back of her head; alien, yet so horribly familiar.
She didn't need to wonder what was wrong with her. She already knew.
Go away, she thought miserably to someone, not herself.
Child, you know I cannot do that.
She did know, but that didn't make it any less difficult.
Why are you still here? You know you'll get nothing from me.
My only purpose is to grant that which you desire.
This was a lie. It had to be. She struggled not to think of what it would mean for her if it wasn't. She failed.
Unbidden, the memories of that night sprung to her mind. She gripped the metal frame of her bed, pale fingers becoming even whiter at the knuckles.
She had ran. The dark trees (or had they been buildings?) had seemed to loom over her. The dark had been so complete, so smothering. It was almost welcome in its solace and protection, far away from prying eyes.
Marie clenched her eyes tighter still, her breath hitching in her throat.
Then what? Dark had seemed all the lighter as she had laid there at the foot of the stairs (how had she gotten there?) Her brain had throbbed as something unknown and oppressive forced down on her mind from all sides.
Then… A scream? A laugh perhaps? The sound might have come from her own mouth, she couldn't recall. The world had seemed to stop for a moment, broken into so many pieces and trying desperately to put itself together again. She was the same, fitting bits of herself together.
There was one piece that didn't belong.
After a moment of deadly silence, it spoke. Its voice was by far the most unbearable sound she had ever heard.
What is it you desire?
Fear and hate bubbled up from the pit of her stomach. She loathed the voice that was not her own. She loathed herself, so weak and easily broken.
But it was wrong, so very wrong. Marie Korbel could not be insane, had never been insane. The oppressive force pushing on her skull was alien, an outside force of titanic proportions.
No. Her world was broken and her mind had been violated, but Marie was not insane. This voice… This thing was not part of her.
What it was, she couldn't be sure.
Marie stiffened, becoming aware of the tight bloodless feeling in her fingers. She quickly released the bedframe, staring at her fingers as they regained the bit of color she possessed. Against her better judgement, her gaze slowly climbed from her hands to her arms.
The pink lines of taut skin were clearly visible against her pale epidermis.
She turned away, but allowed one of her arms to reach for the other, fingers brushing the marred flesh. Aided by painful memories, she slowly traced the path of each scar.
She did not need to look. The placement of each painful reminder was burned into her brain with lines of fire.
Instead, her gaze searched for something to take her away from her own thoughts. She glanced around, ignoring the whisper in her ear that sounded almost like a disappointed sigh.
The barred window directly across from her bed allowed a fractured beam of light to grace the room. The other three children who occupied the space were nowhere to be seen.
Perhaps they were playing, or taking medication somewhere. Regardless, this level of silence was a rare occurrence.
Marie flopped over onto her bed, cringing slightly as the ancient springs creaked under her meager weight.
Perhaps the best thing to do was enjoy the quiet while it lasted.
She doubted it.
Marie lay there for a while, lost in thought and general moodiness. She allowed her thoughts to wander, deftly flicking away the invading consciousness each time it drew near her mind.
This was a practice she had gotten rather good at in the last few months. It didn't make the the experience any more tolerable, though.
She only wished….
No! She would not allow her self pity to tempt her towards submission. She was not a slave!
With this rallying thought, Marie gathered herself, before rising from her bed. Reaching down, she brushed a few specks of dust from her simple white dress, bare of even such simplicities as pockets or a lace collar. There were times when she even missed her old uniform, hated as it had been at the time.
A slave's outfit, the voice said.
Shut up. Active defiance was always a comfort to her, in a strange way.
The voice was not like her old masters. It could not beat her for talking back. It could not hurt her, at least not unless she let it.
She wasn't going to.
The unusual quiet of the ward was suddenly shattered as the curtain wall was pushed aside. The metal rungs made an unpleasant scraping noise against the curtain rod, eliciting a wince from the room's only occupant.
Or so they think, Marie thought grimly. If the voice had possessed a face, it surely would have shot her a smug smile at these words.
Her sour mood only worsened when she saw who had disturbed her. A tall woman in a white outfit strided into the room, her single eye fixed on the girl.
"So, you're up then?"
"Clearly." Marie failed to keep a note of bitterness from affecting her voice.
She wasn't exactly alone in her sentiment. Valentine was widely considered the scourge of the Canopy Kingdom Asylum, at least by those living there.
The blue haired nurse may have been the head of the staff, but any of the patients would attest that she belonged in a padded cell just as much as any of them. Maybe more.
The nurse's eye narrowed, not out of anger, but rather a resigned sort of frustration.
"It's past eleven thirty."
Elaboration was not needed. It hadn't taken long for Marie to adjust to the asylum's strictly enforced schedules. She knew perfectly well that eleven thirty was their lunch period. All the patients were required to attend, unless they were too ill or their medication wasn't to be taken with meals. Neither of these applied to Marie, so she was sure to be chastised for being absent.
Perhaps if she had been more of a threat, one of the staff might have been assigned to keep an eye on her. As it was though, Marie was quite the innocuous patient.
Outside of the occasional trip to her room or an empty hallway to collect her thoughts, nothing about her was worthy of caution on the part of the staff.
It almost seemed a shame. In a way, she could have used the company.
She followed Valentine down the hallway to the left of the curtain, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead of her. She did not need a lecture from the nurse, nor did she want one. Valentine, to her credit, did not attempt to chastise her. Perhaps everything they needed to say had already been said.
The nurse opened the door to the cafetorium, allowing the younger girl to pass through. Marie did so. She heard the door close, and became aware of Valentine retreating down the hallway opposite. Good. She did not need to be walked every step of the way.
Oh, yes. You're so independent. Of course, with a little push, you could be even more so….
No.
The word had a note of finality to it, and the voice fell silent, for the time being.
Sighing, Marie stood at the back of the short line of people who were still waiting for lunch. As always, she could feel a sort of prickle on the back of her neck. The asylum staff surveyed the room, watching for any sign of disturbance.
She did not turn, but she knew some were looking at her.
. . . . . . .
Marie returned to her room at twelve fifteen on the dot, eager to avoid another encounter with Valentine. One of the other children was there, a girl. Marie had never learned her name. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, muttering quietly under her breath.
Marie had long since become accustomed to this behavior, and paid the girl no mind as she chattered to herself. However, as she turned away, she suddenly felt herself grow sick.
The girl was mad.
So what?
She had grown used to it, to this. She did not care to think of what this said about her.
What are you talking about?
She sank onto her bed, folding her hands into her lap to avoid another session with her scars.
A deep breath in, and then one out. She kept her eyes closed. The darkness of the space behind her eyelids was welcome. She allowed herself to relax…
And the relative calm she had cultivated was shattered in an instant by the metallic screeching of that damned curtain-
"So, this is the children's wing. You will remain here until we have finished sorting your paperwork, and then you shall be assessed."
Marie could safely say she hadn't been expecting that.